


That Confounded Bridge(town)

by sodium_amytal



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Pre-Zeppelin, Secret Relationship, Sexual Experimentation, Summer Romance, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert doesn’t ask for much, just one evening to himself where he can party and legally get wasted, but instead he’s stuck working in his parents’ hotel on the eve of his eighteenth birthday. When the Yardbirds check in, however, Robert gets a lot more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [That Confounded Bridge(town)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12533824) by [leotart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart), [sodium_amytal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal)



**Thursday.**

Robert doesn't ask for much, just one evening to himself where he can party and legally get wasted. You only turn eighteen once, but Robert's doomed to spend his special day spread far too thin inside his parents' hotel—working room service  _and_  housekeeping. All because Maureen and Audrey called in sick, in some sort of cooperative effort to ruin Robert's birthday. He's blaming them entirely for this. They're horrible people, and he hates them.

Mum's gone out on errands, so Robert's manning the front desk until she gets back. It's only about eighty degrees inside, so Robert has his shirt unbuttoned a little. Probably not too professional, but he's past the point of caring. He's an adult now; he's allowed to make poor decisions, and it's not like Mum's here to give him grief for it.

He's doodling on the back of a hotel brochure when the front door opens. "Thank God," Robert mumbles under his breath, because if he's going to waste his birthday at work he wants to actually  _work_. He glances up from his artwork to see a group of five thin, average-looking guys with shaggy haircuts trailing behind a more clean-cut, suit-wearing chap.

Robert turns on the charm as the group approaches the counter. Their psychedelic clothes make Robert think they're band members, and the guy in the suit must be their manager.

This is a bit of an oddity; the hotel's clientele is mostly posh, rich tourists on summer holiday in Bridgetown, Barbados, a burgeoning exotic locale. Within the last few years, the capital city has seen an influx of tourists eager to explore its lush, tropical beaches. The hotel, situated on the southwest coast of the island, has a mesmerizing view of the Caribbean Sea.

So it's not unreasonable to think a band might have been booked here.

The group's split up into three rooms with two guests apiece. Everything's going just fine until Robert gets to the final set of guests, because one of them is the most gorgeous man he's ever seen. Seriously, this dude has no business making muttonchops look so good. He's got a mop of chin-length dark hair, smoldering green eyes, and Robert should  _not_  be wondering what that long, lean body might look like underneath his clothes.

So, naturally, Robert chooses to make awkward conversation with Dark-Haired Hottie. "So, uh, are you all on holiday?"

Dark-Haired Hottie smiles, and, wow, Robert's a little dazzled. "Not exactly. We're touring."

Fuck, Robert was right. Sexy people shouldn't even be  _allowed_  to play instruments; that shit just isn't fair.

His roommate cuts in. "The Yardbirds. You may have heard of us," he says with a haughty smile.

"Can't say that I have," Robert admits, chagrined. He's usually so knowledgeable about music.

"Fair enough," Hot Guy says with that disarming, warm smile. "I think we've seen more success in the States than in London." His gaze travels south from Robert's face—for the second time—and Robert fears he's got some horrible deformity Cute Boy can't stop gawking at. Oh God, what if something's crawling on him and he doesn't even notice?

"Oh, you're Londoners?" Because their accents didn't give that away at all. Robert's a moron sometimes. "I'm from Kidderminster, myself. What kind of music do you play?"

Nosy Roommate says, "R&B with a psychedelic twist. It gets a little mad sometimes."

"And long," Hottie McHotface interjects before his cheeks go pink in realization, because, yeah, that comment could totally be taken the wrong way.

Robert bites the inside of his mouth to hide his smile. Babe Supreme flicks his gaze past Robert's face again, and Robert wants to make some catty "my eyes are up here" comment until he realizes, holy shit, that's  _exactly_  what Hot Guy's looking at, because Robert left the first couple buttons of his shirt undone, and his chest is what one might refer to as "on display."

This gorgeous man is actually  _checking Robert out_. Flagrantly.

"You, uh, you should come," Dark-Haired Adonis says. Man, he's full of double entendres today. Robert watches the bob of his throat when he swallows. Oh my God, is he  _flustered_? "Our first show here is tomorrow night in Cave Hill."

Robert opens his mouth to say something when their manager calls out, "Page! Beck! Come on!"

Hot Guy smiles at Robert and picks up his luggage, a sheepish look on his face. "I should be off."

Robert peers over the counter. "Isn't that awfully heavy? You could use the cart wotsit if you'd like, save you the trouble." He's gesturing in a way that's supposed to communicate the idea of a luggage cart. God help him.

"It's no trouble, thank you." Hot Guy flashes a quick smile over his shoulder.

Robert barely manages to remember to say, "Enjoy your stay," before Mr. Gorgeous disappears around the corner with the rest of the group.

God  _damn_. He's so thankful the front desk hides the ridiculous boner he's sporting right now.

* * *

Robert doesn't understand why Dad won't fix him a drink an hour before his shift is over. It's not like they're busy or anything. He really doubts one drink is going to knock him on his ass. Honestly, it's like his parents don't want him to have nice things ever.

It's around nine o'clock when he gets a call from Hottie McHotface's room requesting a bottle of champagne. At least someone's enjoying himself, Robert thinks bitterly. But it's just about time for him to call it a night, so he's not too upset about it. He can end the evening on a high note and think about Mr. Muttonchops when he's alone in the shower.

Robert brings an icy bottle of champagne and two glasses up to room 516. He might do an excited little dance in the elevator, because it's empty and  _he can_. He reaches the door and knocks sprightly. He feels like he's hanging in the air, suspended in those terrifying seconds until the drop, before the door swings open.

Mr. Gorgeous smiles at the sight of him. He's wearing a dark t-shirt and a pair of plaid pants, and Robert realizes this is probably Hot Guy's pajama ensemble. How wonderfully quirky. His feet are bare, his toes wiggling in the carpet in a way that's adorable. "That was fast," he says with a breathy laugh.

"I was born to please," Robert says, and he's going to ignore how blatantly sexual that sentence is. He'll just resign himself to a life of awkward advances, because clearly he's never going to be smooth or casual. He holds out the champagne bucket like a peace offering— _take it and I'll stop talking_.

Muttonchops takes the bucket and digs a handful of bills out of his pocket. "Well then, you've earned this."

Robert stares at the wad of money Cute Guy places in his hand. "All of it?"

He just smiles, and Robert thinks this guy could be a fantastic cult leader; he's certainly got the charisma for it. "Thank you!" Robert says, counting through the bills. "Have a good evening!" As he's turning away, he mumbles, "Happy birthday to me," but it must be louder than he thinks—or this hallway is unbelievably quiet—because Hot Guy's voice says, "It's your birthday?"

Robert whirls around, a little startled. "Y—yes?"

Hottie McHotface peers out from the door, opening it wider in an inviting sort of way. As if Robert wasn't already sold on the idea of joining him, he says, "Would you care for a drink?"

Hell the fuck yes. Robert hesitates, though, because he doesn't want to look too eager. Even though he absolutely is. Appearance is everything. "Are you sure? Your roommate won't mind?"

"He's not in." There's a hint of suggestion to it, which Robert is totally down for.

But he feigns that he's been convinced and tentatively steps inside. Dark-Haired Adonis fetches the champagne from the bucket. "So, what's your name?" he asks as he's filling the glasses.

"Robert." He's embarrassed that he had to think about it for a moment, because watching this guy's thin fingers is distracting as hell.

"Nice to meet you, Robert. I'm Jimmy." Jimmy hands him a filled champagne flute in lieu of a handshake. Robert vaguely remembers that name from when the group checked in, but there was someone else named Jim or James as well, and it confused him.

Robert swallows down half the glass, because he goes hard.

A smirk dances across Jimmy's mouth. "And how old are you today? Or is that confidential information?"

"I'm surprised you didn't ask that first. But I'm eighteen, if it makes any difference." Robert tries to guess Jimmy's age; he looks like he might be in his twenties, but his youthful, cherubic face is a wildcard. "What about you, mate?"

"Twenty-two," Jimmy says matter-of-factly. "Please, sit." He gestures to the beds before taking his own advice and sitting in the leather armchair near the window.

Robert does as he's asked, chooses the edge of the bed closest to Jimmy. He glances out the window at the scenic view of the ocean. "How come you're not out and about with the rest of them?"

"I'm still a bit jet-lagged." Jimmy takes a dainty sip of champagne. "I hate flying, honestly. I wish there were a more efficient way of travel that didn't require I be suspended in mid-air in a metal tube for hours."

"It's not so bad," Robert offers. "You get used to it after a while."

Jimmy lifts his eyebrows. "You travel often?"

"My folks and I started working here only during the summers. So I got used to flying back and forth."

"Your parents... They own the hotel?"

Robert nods. "They considered it a good investment. My father runs the books and the bar. Mum takes care of the front desk on occasion."

"And they're making you work on your birthday?"

"I was s'posed to have the night off, but our other workers called in sick. It's cataclysmically unfair."

Jimmy smiles appraisingly over the rim of his glass. "Haven't you heard? Life's not fair."

"Says the rock star," Robert pouts. He finishes his drink; it's light and bubbly, and he doesn't feel the least bit tipsy. "What do you play?" He doubts Jimmy's the singer; his voice is a bit too high and nasally, but you never know.

"Guitar. Jeff and I have a dueling lead guitar thing going on. It's pretty fantastic, if I do say so myself."

So Nosy Roommate—now dubbed "Jeff"—and Jimmy must be pretty close friends if they can play the same instrument and not let ego get in the way. Robert stores that information away for later.

Robert looks at the champagne bottle. "May I?"

"Of course. I could use some more while you're up."

Robert brings the bottle over to the bed and refills their glasses. "You've played in the States, have you? What's it like?"

Jimmy smiles, as if recalling a fond memory. "Los Angeles is wonderful. Bright, beautiful, brimming with free-thinkers and dreamers. New York is every bit as exciting as it's shown on the telly."

"And the rest?"

"That depends on where you are."

"So it's a lot like England, then."

Oh my God, Jimmy has the cutest fucking laugh. "Exactly." He takes another sip. "Are there any locales I should see while I'm here?"

"Plenty of clubs, but you're probably playing shows there. Seeing as we're surrounded by water, a night swim ought to be in order." No, he's not thinking about Jimmy going skinny-dipping. He's  _not_.

Jimmy smiles sheepishly as his cheeks go pink. "I don't think I'll be doing that."

"Shy, are you?"

"I haven't had much occasion to swim," Jimmy admits in a low voice.

"You don't know how? Maybe I could show you sometime!" Where the fuck did that come from? Robert's inner skank needs to calm the hell down.

Jimmy tucks a curl of hair behind his ear. "I'll consider it."

Robert hears the manic thump of his heartbeat. If he gets to see Jimmy half-naked and wet, he can die happy. And Jimmy's  _considering_  it.

Robert gulps down some of the champagne to calm his nerves.

"How long have you been working here?" Jimmy asks.

"Since I was sixteen. My parents thought it would be a nice summer job for me, since I'm—and I quote—'easily distracted with my head in the clouds.'"

Jimmy does that cute smile-and-stare-from-beneath-his-long-lashes thing that twists Robert up in knots. "I can see where they might get that impression."

"Why are you taking their side?" Robert whines. "Did they tell you to say that?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a dreamer, Robert." Hearing Jimmy say his name feels a lot like being punched in the stomach. "The world could use more of them, that's for sure."

"Is that what you are?"

Jimmy sips his drink, stares off at nothing in particular. "I'm not sure. I thought I was, but I've come to learn a lot about myself this past year."

"Like what?"

Jimmy clicks his tongue. "Come now, it's bad form to reveal all your secrets. Gotta keep a little mystery, right?"

"It seems to be working for you, yeah," Robert says before he can stop himself.

"You find me mysterious?" Jimmy asks, with a hint of what Robert thinks is flirtation.

"I find you a lot of things." Robert needs to never drink again, because apparently he has no verbal filter whatsoever.

There's a coy smile at the edges of Jimmy's mouth, like he just  _knows_  Robert's been thinking about his dick for the past five minutes. "All good, I hope."

"Of course. You're bloody gorgeous." Robert downs the rest of his drink, in hopes of getting drunk enough to never feel embarrassment again. Holy shit, why the fuck did he say that? He's the stupidest person alive. Why is he even allowed to talk?

But Jimmy doesn't recoil in horror or throw his drink in Robert's face. He lifts an appraising eyebrow and gives Robert a warm smile. "Oh. You don't go for a bird, do you?"

"A Yardbird, maybe," Robert answers, because he's an idiot who thinks he's funny.

Jimmy tosses his head back and laughs an angel's laugh. "Wow."

Chagrin boils under Robert's cheeks. He sets the empty glass on the floor and pushes a hand through his hair, his elbows on his knees. "I don't even know why I told you that. I've never told anyone." Maybe it's because Jimmy's a stranger, someone he'll likely never see again after his stay here. And isn't that a fucking shame. "I'm sorry."

Jimmy shakes his head and stands up. "Don't apologize. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, despite what society wants you to think." He sets his glass on the table, faces Robert with an open, honest look. Jimmy's gaze makes Robert feel like his own secrets are laid bare at his feet, and it doesn't frighten him as much as it should. "So you've never been kissed, then?"

"Not in a way that counts." Robert looks away, fearing he's said too much. Like Jimmy's going to want an awkward, inexperienced virgin.

"That's a shame." Jimmy moves a bit closer. "I could give you a proper kiss, if you'd like."

It's at that moment Robert's convinced he's dreaming. Attractive people like Jimmy don't just offer to make out with dorky, gangly teenagers like Robert. His brain is a fucking  _dick_.

As long as Robert's dreaming, he may as well take advantage of it. He looks at Jimmy, opens his mouth, closes it. Why is it so hard to say yes when moments earlier he was yammering every thought in his head? "If—if you want." God, he's pathetic.

"What do  _you_  want?"

 _Your dick._ But Robert doesn't say that, thank God. "I want you to kiss me." He's amazed he gets the words out without throwing up from nerves. Praise the Lord for alcohol.

"Perfect," Jimmy says, a sly smile creeping over his mouth as he moves closer. He sits beside Robert on the bed, and he's close enough that Robert can feel his body heat. He even fucking  _smells_  good. Robert can't place the scent, but it reminds him of meadows and forests and bright blue skies.

"Because I want to kiss you," Jimmy murmurs, the heat of his breath ghosting over Robert's lips. Robert's mouth drops open in stunned shock, and Jimmy smirks. "You're not the only one who's curious."

Somehow that makes this even hotter, like Robert's tempted Jimmy over to the opposite side of the sexuality spectrum. Maybe Robert seduced him through his total, unabashed awkwardness and lackluster conversation skills.

Jimmy lifts a hand and curls his fingers around the curve of Robert's jaw before moving in. His mouth is softer than Robert expected, warm and gentle over his own. Jimmy stays there for a moment, breathing hot against Robert's cheek. Robert suspects Jimmy's waiting for him to do something, to give a sign that he's into this. So he hums a quiet little moan into Jimmy's mouth, because he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't want to kiss back and be horrible at it, or try to push his tongue in. That's a thing people do, right?

Moaning must be a good sign, because Jimmy kisses him a little harder, a more insistent press of mouth. His fingers dig in a bit against the side of Robert's face. Robert thinks he ought to do something with his hands instead of having them limp in his lap like a couple of dead fish. He doesn't know what's acceptable, but he figures if Jimmy's touching him a little reciprocation won't be too weird.

Robert reaches up and gets his hands full of Jimmy's t-shirt. He tugs, and Jimmy leans in slightly, crushing their mouths harder together. Jimmy's hair is pretty amazing, so that's where Robert goes next, pushing his hands through the inky black. Something wet glides over Robert's lower lip, and, holy fuck, that's his tongue. Robert inhales a sharp breath, digs his fingers in Jimmy's hair.

Jimmy's hand slips from Robert's face and slides over the slope of his neck. Robert tries to copy the move Jimmy did with his tongue, licks his way into Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy hums a contented sound and nips at Robert's lips.

For a first kiss, this is pretty fucking awesome and  _so_  not a dream. There's no way he's imagining the press of Jimmy's mouth against his own, the wet slide of his tongue, or the way Jimmy's hand is tangled in his hair. Robert's imagination isn't that good; he ventures a guess that  _nobody's_  imagination is that good.

Jimmy sucks a kiss into the corner of Robert's mouth, then he's following the line of his jaw, kissing his way to the joint below his ear. Robert can't help but tip his head back and purr Jimmy's name against the air. He feels Jimmy smile over his skin as he trails soft kisses down Robert's neck. There's a hot flick of tongue at the hollow of his throat, then a starburst of heat and want at his thigh, five tendrils stretching out and digging taut into the muscle. Robert realizes that's Jimmy's  _hand_ —Jimmy is squeezing his thigh, that hand so, so close to the swell of need between his hips.

Robert chokes on a shocked breath, and Jimmy skims his palm along the inside of Robert's thigh. His hands are careful, a gentle yet confident press of fingertips. Jimmy rubs over him hard in his jeans, and Robert makes a graceless noise, nudging his hips forward for friction.

Jimmy's mouth's curled into an appraising smile, watching the way Robert responds to him. He makes a soft sound in his throat, like he's sizing Robert up for something—and with the way Jimmy's squeezing his dick, yeah, he probably is. "Mmm, impressive," Jimmy murmurs, looking up underneath his long lashes. "Would you like me to take care of this?"

Every coherent, intelligent response falls out of Robert's brain in that moment, because Jimmy is asking for permission to jerk Robert off. Robert opens his mouth, stammers uselessly. He's pretty much forgotten how to make words right now. He squeaks out a helpless sound, and that is  _so_  not convincing anyone to have sex with him.

It doesn't seem to bother Jimmy, who unbuttons Robert's shirt and lets it fall open. His hand drops, thin fingers finding the edge of Robert's jeans. "If you find a bloke you like, you ought to know how to do this properly," Jimmy explains, plucking at the button and pulling the zipper down.

Robert's a teenage boy, so he's pretty sure he knows his way around a dick, but he's not going to argue if staying quiet means Jimmy gives him a handjob. This is the greatest fucking thing that's ever happened to him, and he can't even tell anyone about it. Always a fly in the chardonnay, it seems.

Jimmy tugs him out of his underwear and rubs his thumb along the vein underneath Robert's dick, and, oh God oh Jesus, that's perfect. Robert gives a sharp inhale, feels his skin tighten at Jimmy's touch. He can hear his heartbeat in his throat. Fucking hell. Jimmy runs his tongue over his bottom lip as his hand moves, slow and tight, his thumb teasing the head of Robert's dick. "See what I'm doing?"

Robert manages a neutral noise of acknowledgement. He bites his lip and shakes the hair out of his eyes, watches Jimmy's hand shift along his cock. Jimmy looks straight at him, and for the briefest moment Robert wonders if this is weird before Jimmy presses a gentle kiss over his mouth, his hand still working in slow, testing pulls. Robert isn't sure what he likes better: the innocent press of Jimmy's kisses or the sleazy stroke of his hand; in chorus, they're pretty fantastic.

Jimmy tilts his head to kiss him at a different angle, and Robert lets Jimmy do as he pleases, lets his tongue licks its way into his mouth. Jimmy breathes in wet flares at the side of Robert's face, his breath coming a little quicker, like doing this for Robert means he can feel it too. Robert's fingers catch in the front of Jimmy's t-shirt and pull him closer. Jimmy lets himself be pulled, groans a hot noise of want into Robert's mouth.

Robert's hips push into Jimmy's hand, and he moans a slur of encouragements and Jimmy's name that he'll be embarrassed about later. Jimmy's squeezing the base of Robert's dick and grinding his hand into his balls in a way that's everything good in the world. Robert can't help but shove into that, hips rolling and pushing and sending sparks up his spine. He shivers and shakes, teetering on the edge of the world. Jimmy pinches the tip between his fingers, and a shocked little noise bubbles out of Robert's throat before he can stop it.

His dick's dribbling frothy white all over Jimmy's hand, and Jimmy doesn't even care, using it as lubrication to make the twist of his wrist something that makes Robert's head tip back. "Oh God oh God oh Jesus," Robert whimpers, and Jimmy kisses the words out of his mouth, his hand tight around Robert's dick.

"You're close, aren't you?" Jimmy asks, slowing his stroke for a moment.

Robert nods, tries to fight the way his breath shakes in his lungs. "I'm sorry, I've never—"

"It's alright." Jimmy curls his free hand around Robert's ass and scoots him closer. The hand wrapped around his cock falls away, pushing into his jeans, and Robert actually fucking  _sobs_  when he feels the slick pressure of Jimmy's fingers teasing at his opening.

Robert's mouth drops open around a shuddering exhale. Jimmy drifts over the tight clench of muscle, rubbing and stroking over him in slow, wet drags. Robert gasps Jimmy's name, breathless, because he doesn't know how to say anything else at this point. Jimmy's fingers move slick-wet over his hole, and Robert's shaking and whimpering and saying Jimmy's name around breathy gasps of air. The tension tightens and tightens until he feels like he's burning, then he makes a loud, helpless noise that catches in his throat as he loses it completely.

There's a warm, wet splatter against his belly when he comes, and Robert just groans his way through it, his muscles twitching feverishly like he's boneless. He's making shameless, half-smothered noises in his throat, because Jimmy's still stroking him down there, fingers rubbing over too-sensitive flesh. Robert squirms, his legs sliding over the bed, and Jimmy just kisses his open mouth.

Robert can't fucking believe any of this happened. His brain's stuck in denial mode, but his messy stomach and heaving lungs and the fact that Jimmy's hand is still touching him are pretty solid evidence that Robert just had the greatest sexual experience of his entire life. He's got no idea how this could get any better.

"Oh my God," Robert breathes out when he remembers how to make words. "That was—that was the fucking  _best_."

Jimmy laughs, his eyes crinkling. "Happy birthday."

Greatest birthday gift ever.

"You are amazing," Robert continues, because the combination of post-orgasm lassitude and alcohol are a nightmare for his verbal filter. "I want to do this forever. With you. You're the best. Are there awards for this? Because you deserve them—all of them."

Jimmy chuckles, and he might be blushing a bit. "I don't know about that. But maybe you could stop by later tonight, if you'd like."

There's no way Jimmy wants to do this again; this was supposed to be a one-time fluke, the single high point in Robert's life.

Robert blinks as his breathing evens out. "Y—yeah, absolutely! Your roommate won't mind?"

"I'm sure we can find someplace private. You must know all the secret spots around here, don't you?"

Robert nods. "Oh—yeah." If all else fails, he can always bring Jimmy up to his room. But that's the first place his parents will think to look if they need to find him, which, God, that's a whole world of no. Finding him with a guest would be bad enough, but with a  _male_  guest? Robert might as well start digging his own grave right now.

He glances at the unmistakeable bulge in Jimmy's pants. The idea that Robert caused any part of Jimmy's erection is giving him life. Robert wets his mouth and says, "Do you—do you want me to take care of that?" Señor Smooth.

Jimmy smirks to himself, shifting his legs to hide the evidence of his arousal. "Maybe some other time." Robert can't tell if that's a rejection or not. "I'd rather not keep you; your parents might come searching."

"I'm not working right now. I mean, you were my last job for the evening."

The corner of Jimmy's mouth turns up a little, like he's thinking,  _fantastic word choice there, slick._ "At any rate, you ought to get back. For now, at least." Jimmy doesn't check out until Monday morning, so Robert gets three more nights with him—if he doesn't fuck it up.

"Right." Robert knows not to overstay his welcome, so he stands up on shaky legs and tucks himself into his jeans. He's ignoring the fact that he's a jizz-covered mess right now, ignoring the way his shirt sticks to his skin when he buttons up.

He feels like he ought to thank Jimmy, but that seems kind of... wrong, somehow. What exactly is the etiquette for casual hook-ups? Once he's decent, Robert goes with a tried-and-true friendly smile and nod of acknowledgement as he moves for the door. "I'll see you, then? Later?"

Jimmy nods, and his smile is warm like the sun. "Later."

Robert does a totally mature dance of joy once the door's shut behind him.


	2. Friday

**Friday.**

Robert opens his eyes to the glare of sunlight through the curtains and knows something is horribly wrong. It was dark when he closed his eyes. What the hell happened?

Memories of last night's events flicker like a dying neon sign in his hazy brain. He remembers leaving Jimmy's room to come back to his own and shower. Then the soft, cool fluff of a pillow against his cheek and—he really shouldn't be allowed to drink, ever. No one ever told him about the unglamorous parts of drinking, how it makes you sleepy and uncoordinated and word vomity. Why didn't anyone tell him that? He could've scored a second round with Jimmy if he'd just paced himself and didn't chug champagne like a man dying of thirst.

Jimmy probably thinks Robert stood him up, which is the most ridiculous assumption ever made. No one stands up a guy who looks like Jimmy. Unless they're the world's biggest idiot, and Robert seems to be vying for that title.

He sits up slowly and drags a hand through his mess of curls. He doesn't feel hung over, at least he doesn't think so—light doesn't bother him, his body doesn't hurt, he's not seeing double of anything. So he's only experiencing the "horrible shame" afterglow of a night spent drinking. Wonderful.

It's not like Robert regrets what he did last night, but he knows what it is and how far it goes. Guys like Jimmy live on an eternal high of worship and adulation, and they learn how to manipulate it for their own gain. Robert's happy to be used by a gorgeous bloke like Jimmy, but in the end that's all it is. The same-sex aspect ensures Robert can't brag to his friends about bedding a rock star, so Jimmy's free to indulge in a homosexual dalliance and come out smelling like big, gay roses.

A normal person would probably feel used; Robert's just thrilled he got to be Jimmy's first male sexual partner.

He throws on some clothes that don't look like he slept in them and takes the lift down to the first floor. Maureen's there manning the front desk, which Robert is equal parts relieved and irritated by.

"I see you're back to full health," he snipes, leaning against the counter and glaring at her. "I swear, it's like you two did this on purpose."

"What are you talking about?" Maureen asks, batting her long lashes at him.

Robert is unmoved by the display. "You and Audrey both calling out on my birthday? Coincidence? I think not."

"Yesterday was your birthday?"

Robert scowls. It's like no one listens when he says things.

Maureen laughs at his disgruntled expression. "I'm joking!" She lays a hand on his arm. "I remember, of course. How could I forget? You wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. Trust me, I wouldn't have missed it for the world, but I twisted my ankle something awful. Could barely stand on the bloody thing."

It's then Robert notices Maureen isn't so much standing behind the counter as she is  _sitting_. He feels like a douche. "Oh. 'M sorry. I didn't realize—"

"Don't worry your head over me," Maureen says with a smile. "I'll be fine. How was your birthday?"

Robert can't stop the grin that pulls at his mouth. The memory of Jimmy's touch is still etched into his flesh. "It was... interesting. Like I was a caterpillar who became a drunk butterfly."

"You have such a wonderful way with words."

He wants to mention that he got laid, too, but he's not sure how to hide the fact that it was with a guest at the hotel. Or that it was with a dude. Yeah, his lips are sealed on that one.

Maureen says, "I'm amazed you're actually standing upright."

"Me too."

A perky female voice trills, "I thought I heard you sneaking around here, Robert!"

Robert groans internally. "Hello, Audrey."

Audrey slinks closer in a way that would make most men take notice, but Robert is not most men. "Happy belated birthday." Her voice is breathy and laced with double entendre.

"You remembered?"

"Of course." She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear; Robert prefers the gesture when Jimmy does it. "Maybe I could give you your present tonight?" She moves closer in a way that insistently flirtatious, and Robert can't help but feel like there's some serious workplace sexual harassment going on here. But he's never told his parents about it. They'd wonder why a young, attractive girl's advances bothered him so much, and it wouldn't take long to discover the reason behind Robert's discomfort. Robert really likes being alive, so he's not going to rock the boat. Even if he's lost count of how many times he's told Audrey he's not interested.

"Mmm, I think I might be a bit... preoccupied tonight," he says, skulking away from her undulating hips. "I already made plans with someone." Hey, it's not a total lie.

Audrey smiles like he's said something amusing. "Found yourself a girl, have you?"

God, Robert really wants tell her he's been chasing dick since birth. But she'd probably see that as a challenge. "If I play my cards right."

Audrey's unfazed by the rejection. "Alright, well, if you change your mind, let me know," she says before disappearing around the corner.

Maureen's trying her hardest not to laugh, but she's not doing a very good job of it. "Poor thing. I don't think she'd try so hard if she knew you weren't sweet on me."

"Then why don't you tell her?"

"Because it's hilarious."

Robert scowls at her underneath his eyebrows. Rude.

"So, you have plans tonight?" Maureen says, gleefully changing the topic before Robert can press her on it. "Or was that just a lie to get Audrey off your back?"

"No, I'm supposed to meet someone later." Robert shrugs. "It's not a big deal." It's absolutely a big deal, but Robert's playing that card close to his chest.

Maureen freezes and stares off at something—or someone—behind Robert. "Oh my God."

"What?" Robert whirls around and sees Jimmy and his entourage leaving the dining hall. Jimmy's laughing at something one of the other guys said, and the sound makes Robert's insides curl with delight. "Oh."

"Is that—It is! The Yardbirds!"

Robert makes a face. How does she know about them?

"Oh, that dark-haired bloke! He's gorgeous," Maureen says, and even though three of the six guys have dark hair, it's obvious who she's talking about. "Why didn't you tell me there was a Greek god staying here?"

Robert snorts a nervous laugh. Sometimes he wonders if Maureen knows the truth about his sexuality and simply chooses not to make a fuss about it. It wouldn't surprise him.

Jimmy murmurs something to the others, then—

"He's coming over here!" Maureen hisses in a whisper, and, holy shit, Jimmy's moving towards Robert.

Robert forgets how to make words. He panics internally and manages to discreetly clear his throat before Jimmy arrives at the front desk. Jimmy's wearing dark slacks, a royal blue shirt, and a killer smile. "Robert! Fancy seeing you here."

"I—I work here." The famed Plant rapier wit in action.

Jimmy sees Maureen at the desk and smiles, though it's not as exuberant as the one he'd given Robert. He glances at Robert. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh—right, Jimmy, this is Maureen. Maureen, Jimmy."

Maureen offers her hand; Jimmy accepts, like a true gentleman. "You must be Jimmy Page," she says, all awe and admiration.

A smirk tugs at the corner of Jimmy's flawless lips. "You know my name?"

"Oh, I think everyone does. The whole town's been waiting for you and your mates to arrive."

Jimmy makes an aw-shucks face and casts a flirtatious look at Robert. "Except Robert, I suppose."

Robert pouts, his face flushing red. He wants to bite back with a retort about how Jimmy doesn't even know how to swim, but holds his tongue.

"Robert," Maureen says in a particularly chiding way, "you never told me you knew a member of the Yardbirds."

"It—it slipped my mind," Robert stammers, because that's the best he can do right now.

Maureen smiles like she gets it. "Oh, right, the butterfly thing."

Jimmy's mouth quirks into an amused curve, like he wants to be privy to the inside joke they're sharing here. He leans his hip against the counter and looks at Robert with warm eyes; Robert practically melts under the gaze. "I just thought I'd remind you we're playing a gig tonight at the Cave Hill university. Seven o'clock." He lifts an eyebrow. "I want you to come." After last night, those five words take on a different meaning, and Robert feels a tingle crawl up his spine

"Y—yeah, absolutely."

Jimmy smiles in a way that makes Robert a little weak in the knees. "Wonderful. I'll see you there, then." He walks off, disappearing around the corner, and Robert fights every urge to watch him as he leaves.

Maureen's giving Robert a look he knows all too well. "He isn't what he seems, that's for sure."

Robert swallows thickly. "Are you going to go?"

"I don't think so. Not with my bloody ankle the way it is. Besides, he'd rather have you there anyway."

"Don't be ridiculous," Robert says, his mouth suddenly dry. "He was probably just too nervous to ask you. He might have been afraid he'd come across as too forward."

Maureen shakes her head, tosses her long, dark hair over her shoulders. "If you think he's not interested in you, you're an idiot."

Robert laughs and hopes Maureen doesn't hear the touch of hysteria there. "But he's a guy!"

Maureen gives him flat eyes, and Robert feels a twist in his stomach. "Robert, you're so far in the closet you're in bloody Narnia."

She knows. Oh God. Robert swallows back the nausea and moves in closer. "How—how long have you known?" he asks, his voice a shaky whisper.

"Well, you're a teenage boy, and you don't even bat an eye when Audrey throws herself all over you. You've never once tried to ask me out. It's pretty obvious you like men."

Robert folds his arms over his chest and pouts in defiance. "Maybe I'm just surrounded by ugly women."

He expects her to glare at him for that, but she just laughs. "Clearly you've no idea how to talk to a woman, so my theory still stands."

"Plenty of men don't know how to talk to women. I'd gamble that most men don't."

She arches an eyebrow when he stops talking. "By all means, keep digging. I'm enjoying this."

Robert sighs in defeat, rakes a hand through his hair. He drops his voice to a whisper again, sort of collapses onto the countertop. "Please don't tell my parents."

"Your secret is safe with me," she says, and Robert trusts her with it. "Though I'm a bit surprised that Jimmy prefers the company of the same sex."

"He could like both," Robert offers up lamely. Like he really wants Jimmy to have more options available to him.

Maureen shrugs. "Maybe. It's not as if he couldn't have any woman he wants."

"You're doing wonders for my self-esteem right now."

"I had to get you back for that 'surrounded by ugly women' comment."

"That was a joke!"

Maureen just laughs and ignores his protestations of innocence.

* * *

Robert's parents give him the evening off as recompense for making him work on his birthday. He spends a solid hour in his room trying to decide what to wear to the concert. He doesn't want to look too straight, just enough that it's believable he's into dudes. He finds his best pair of jeans and a shirt he can leave gratuitously unbuttoned. He fusses with his hair until he realizes he's being ridiculous. Jimmy's already deemed him acceptable; Robert's stalling, really.

The venue is a dark, dingy university ballroom with a stage barely big enough to showcase a band. The lights sort of flicker every now and then like jittery eyes. The crowd's a decent size, but it's not a full house, so Robert's got no problem weaving his way to the front. All the people stuffed into this small room guarantees the place is going to feel like a sauna when the band takes the stage. Robert's really not looking forward to being sweaty when he goes back to Jimmy's room, but, on the plus side, Jimmy won't be squeaky clean either.

Maybe, Robert thinks, they could shower together.

A delicious shiver crawls up his spine at the thought.

He wasn't really sure what to expect, but, of course, once the band begins to play, Robert focuses solely on Jimmy. Jimmy plays guitar like a goddamn master, strumming and plucking away as if the instrument is an extension of himself that's been there since birth. He looks every bit the part of a psychedelic hippie, adorned in love beads and bell-bottoms and frilled sleeves. His hair bounces as he moves, and all Robert can think of is tugging on it while Jimmy shoves into him, hard and hot.

Every so often, when Jimmy unleashes a wicked guitar solo—which is basically all the time—he'll briefly toss a grin at Robert, and Robert feels like it's meant just for him. Like maybe Jimmy's trying to impress him, which is ridiculous enough on its own, but the way Jimmy casts smiles and winks and flirtatious lip bites in Robert's direction is pretty hard to ignore.

The concert lasts about two hours, which means that's two hours where it's socially acceptable for Robert to stare at Jimmy. Amazing. He doesn't know how to dispel the energy surging through his veins like a steady pulse. Well, he's got some ideas, but he doesn't know if Jimmy will be down with them.

Most of the crowd thins out after the show's over. Only the most hardcore fans—read: teenage girls—stick around in an attempt to sneak backstage with the band. Robert's not sure what the protocol is here, if he should wait here or attempt to force his way backstage. He doesn't want to come across as a groupie, but he doesn't want to lose track of Jimmy.

Robert's confusion is alleviated when a door leading backstage opens, and Jimmy emerges with a smile. His skin glistens from a sheen of sweat, and Robert feels a curl in his stomach. Jimmy beckons a few of the girls inside, motions to Robert with his head. Robert trails behind the group of girls—they are  _so_  not over eighteen—feeling impossibly out of his element. Jimmy leads them to a small room where the rest of the band's lounging about.

"Enjoy yourselves, ladies," Jimmy says, ever the gentleman, before turning his unfocused attention on Robert. The girls sense his complete and utter disinterest in them and swarm the other band members.

"What do you say we have a night out on the tiles?" Jimmy murmurs, his cheeks flushed pink with exertion. It's a good look on him, like he's just gotten laid, and, wow, Robert's brain needs to stay out of the gutter.

As if there's any possibility Robert would say no. "Y—yes, of course. But, uh, your mates won't mind you leaving them?"

Jimmy snorts a laugh. "They'll hardly notice I'm gone," he says, and they slip out the door together.

They're in a dark, backstage hallway, but Jimmy seems to know his way around, navigating them through the pitch-black tunnel. He pushes open a door, and Robert shields his eyes at the sudden emergence of moonlight screaming into his retinas. Jimmy does an adorable squinty thing as he steps out into the sticky night air. "You wouldn't happen to know any good places to get sloshed, would you?"

"Trying to get me drunk?"

"Just a bit," Jimmy admits with pride. Robert really wants to kiss him again, but he isn't sure if that was just a one-time thing or not, and he can't afford to make the wrong move here. "Last time was such a rousing success."

Robert  _remembers_  last time, and, man, is that a full-body thrill. "I know of a place." He fights the urge to take Jimmy's hand and just leads the way to the nearest bus stop. Jimmy follows, obedient and curious.

"Is there any particular reason why you didn't come back last night?" Jimmy asks. He doesn't sound hurt; it's like he just  _knows_  there's some humiliating story behind Robert's absence.

Robert is  _so_  glad Jimmy can't see his face right now. "Oh, I, um, I didn't wake up until, you know, morning. Apparently, champagne makes me sleepy."

"Is that so?" There's a curl of a smile in Jimmy's voice. At least he's finding Robert's ineptitude amusing. "Then you'll have to drink something else tonight."

"It could be a side-effect of alcohol altogether."

"Half the fun's in finding out."

Robert has a brief mental image of Jimmy force-feeding him shots, which is kind of hilarious. "Then you can't hold it against me if I throw up on you."

Jimmy doesn't answer, and Robert feels a pang of fear. Oh God, what if he's said something horrible? He swallows thickly and turns around. Jimmy's lagging a few feet behind him, oblivious to the conversation Robert's attempting to have with him. Robert sighs, as if this is some great hardship, and jogs over to where Jimmy's stopped in front of a closed shop.

"See something?"

Behind the glass is a bountiful display of delicious-looking cakes and pastries. Jimmy stares contemplatively, like he's judging them. Maybe he is.

"Oh, you've a bit of a sweet tooth?"

"A bit. I haven't tasted a proper cake in quite a while."

"What's your flavor?"

"I don't mind most of them, except for those godawful ones with fruit."

Jimmy's not a big fan of strawberries, it seems.

"Honestly, why would you ruin a cake by putting fruit in it?" Jimmy wonders aloud.

Robert can't help but laugh at his indignant pout. "The hotel has cake, you know. It's this lovely thing called room service. I believe you used it once."

"You're less of a smart-arse when you're drunk, it seems," Jimmy teases, beginning to walk again.

Robert jogs ahead of him to lead the way. "And you're rude when you're sober. You don't get any cake."

Jimmy chuckles to himself and moves in a little closer.

They fall into a casual, light-hearted conversation about music. Robert's careful to catch glimpses of how Jimmy's face looks under the glimmer of the moon and streetlights. Every now and then, Jimmy will laugh or smile at something Robert says, and Robert feels the warmth of his joy in his bones.

The bus ride takes them along the west coast of the island and drops them off just outside of downtown. Robert guides Jimmy through the winding roads until they reach the bar off of Bay Street.

Jimmy gives him a curious look. "How do you know about this place if you've only been able to drink for two days now?"

Robert smiles. "You'll see."

The bar boasts neon signs in the windows and a lively atmosphere. Robert waves away the smoke as he makes his way inside. Mixing drinks is a barrel of a man who looks like he may have eaten one. A man, not a barrel. Though, really, it's anybody's guess. Robert approaches the bar and takes a seat. "Oi, Peter."

The giant man turns around and smiles when he sees Robert. He's cleaning a beer mug that looks like a shot glass in his enormous hands. "Percy! I thought you were a goner when you didn't show last night."

It seems everyone Robert knows is on a magical quest to embarrass the shit out of him. Wonderful. He hopes his face isn't too humiliatingly red when he says, "I, uh, I ran into a mate from London." He waves a hand at Jimmy. "This is Jimmy."

"Good to meet ya, Jimmy," Peter says. "What's your poison?"

Jimmy rattles off a complicated drink order Robert can barely follow. Peter holds out a hand expectantly. Jimmy digs through his trouser pockets for his billfold, places a couple bills in Peter's hand.

"Your ID, mate," Peter clarifies, still holding out his hand.

"Oh. My mistake." Jimmy produces his ID card, and Peter inspects it like a jeweller scrutinizing a diamond.

"You're twenty-two, are ya?" Peter squints, as if that might make the text more legible. "You don't look twenty-two."

Robert's feeling  _so_  much second-hand embarrassment right now.

Jimmy takes it in stride. "So I've been told."

Peter hands the card back. Jimmy slips it into the billfold and pockets his wallet. "What brings you to our lovely island, Jimmy? Business or pleasure?" Peter asks, facing the expansive wall of liquor to fix Jimmy's drink.

"Maybe a mix of both." Jimmy casts a smirk at Robert when Peter's back is turned. Holy hell. Robert feels something in his chest give way. The way Jimmy looks at Robert makes his toes curl. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.

Peter turns back to the bar and sets Jimmy's drink in front of him. "You look familiar," he says, studying Jimmy's face. "I may be bad with names, but I never forget a face. You're from London? I was a bouncer many years ago. You the nightclub sort?"

Jimmy sips at his drink before answering. "I've been to a few."

"I'll remember. By the end of the night, I'll place ya." Peter turns to Robert. "What can I get you, lad?"

Robert orders a rum and coke. Peter serves up the drink and tends to another customer at the end of the bar, giving them time to talk.

"So," Jimmy says, dragging out the word with a mischievous smile on his lips. "Percy?"

Robert groans. "God, shut up."

Jimmy grins. "I think it's cute."

"Cute" makes Robert think of puppies and kittens and tiny animals; he doesn't want to be "cute." He wants to be  _fuckable_ , damn it.

"How are you a regular here?" Jimmy asks again.

Robert swivels on the barstool so he's facing the left wall. There's a makeshift stage—slightly crappier-looking than the one Jimmy performed on earlier tonight—with a grand piano off to the side. Someone's plucking away at the keys in a way that would make Chopin roll in his grave. Apparently people who can't play piano will play it loudest.

"People use the stage for performances. Some are better than others, of course, but what do you expect at a bar?" Robert chuckles. "Anyway, some people sing, some tell jokes, others read poems or play instruments. It's a mixed bag."

"And what do you do?"

"Sing, of course."

Jimmy lifts a curious eyebrow. "You should go up there."

"And steal Beethoven's glory?" They share a laugh. Robert swallows a gulp of his drink. "Not unless you go on first, Mr. Rock Star."

Leaning against the stage wall is an acoustic guitar that's probably seen better days. "I'll consider it," Jimmy says playfully. He takes a sip and says, "Would you prefer a collaboration?"

Robert opens his mouth, closes it. "Oh. You—you want to play something together?"

"That's the idea."

Robert doesn't even know how to respond to that. "I'm afraid I don't know any of your songs that well."

Jimmy chuckles like Robert's missed the point entirely. "There are other songs, you know. You mentioned some on the way here: 'I Can't Quit You Baby,' 'You Shook Me,' 'Nobody's Fault But Mine.'" Jimmy stares at him as if trying to jar Robert's memory. Then he smirks knowingly. "You don't have stage fright, do you?"

"Just a bit." Robert's not going to say the real reason he's nervous: performing on the same stage as Jimmy might actually kill him.

"Then I've definitely got to accompany you," Jimmy says around another sip. "But you should finish your drink first and see if you're ready to give it a go."

Robert doesn't have to be told twice.

They decide to go on after Robert's finished his rum and coke, because he doesn't want to get too drunk and be unable to actually perform. This is going to be embarrassing enough; Robert doesn't need any assistance in being humiliated. Might as well get this over with so he can blot out the memory with copious amounts of alcohol.

But something strange and otherworldly happens once they get onstage. Jimmy sits in the rickety chair, sets the guitar in his lap, and plucks out a bluesy intro to "You Shook Me." They've never rehearsed together, but somehow, even though Jimmy's ad-libbing notes and adding flourish, Robert picks up his cues perfectly, adapting to Jimmy's style with ease. Jimmy plays with finesse, even though Robert thinks he's making this shit up as he goes. There's something so masterful about the way his fingers move over the strings. Of course, Robert can't pay too much attention to it while he's singing, but he does notice.

They finish to a pretty receptive crowd, considering most of the patrons are drunk. Robert bows, grateful, and moves to leave the stage. Jimmy, however, stays where he is. Robert shoots him a curious look, but Jimmy just waves him off. So Jimmy's going to perform solo? This should be interesting.

Robert hurries back to his seat so he can watch with undivided attention. The song Jimmy plays is short—only about three and a half minutes—but length isn't important; it's about how the music makes you feel. And Robert feels hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Jimmy Page.

Each note is flawless, layering on top of each other and complementing the last in ways that blow Robert's mind. Jimmy taps his foot along with the beat, his dark hair falling in front of his face. Robert isn't sure if Jimmy's improvising this—which, if he is, he can go fuck himself, showoff—or if he's practiced this particular number before, because he's not even looking down at the strings.

Then it's over, and Jimmy's setting the guitar back against the wall and heading towards Robert, like he didn't just effortlessly slay any possible competition.

Jimmy gives Robert a friendly smile as he sits on the barstool beside him. "What did you think?"

Robert searches for words, but there aren't any—new words ought to be invented to encapsulate Jimmy's dazzling charm. So Robert just says the first thing that comes to mind. "You're amazing."

Jimmy laughs quietly. "Thank you."

"I'm serious. You were fantastic."

"You weren't so bad yourself," Jimmy says with a wink before turning back to the bar.

Robert's heart pounds against his ribs. "You—you really think so?"

"Absolutely." Jimmy looks at him like he can't possibly understand why Robert wouldn't believe him. "I hadn't expected us to have so much"—he pauses, searching for the right words—"musical chemistry."

Peter saunters over to them and refills their drinks. "You chaps sure know how to put on a show!"

Jimmy nods, thankful for the praise.

Peter's in the middle of pouring Jimmy's drink when he snaps his fingers. "Ah-ha! I recognize you now!" he says to Jimmy. "You're that bloke with the Yardbirds, aren't you?"

Okay, seriously, how does everyone else on this goddamn island know about the Yardbirds except for Robert?

Jimmy spreads his hands. "You caught me."

"I knew it!" Peter pounds a fist hairy enough to be a gerbil on the bar. "I thought I knew your face from somewhere!"

Jimmy smiles, ever appreciative of the adulation, and sips at his newly-refilled drink.

Peter's chuckling as he moves to fill Robert's glass. "How'd you get to know a genuine rock star, Percy?"

That nickname is like a horror movie monster that won't die. Robert shrugs. "He's staying at the hotel. We got to talking and seemed to hit it off, so he invited me to tonight's show. Then he wanted me to show him 'round the place, so here we are."

Peter scratches his beard as if in deep thought. "Could'a fooled me. I thought you two were old friends."

Maybe letting someone jerk you off breeds familiarity?

Robert casts a nervous glance at Jimmy, who doesn't seem bothered in the least by Peter's comment. Peter leaves them to bask in the awkwardness he's created.

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "So,  _Percy_ "—Goddammit, Peter—"are you ever going to tell me where that nickname comes from?"

"That secret is going to the grave with me," Robert insists rather viciously.

"I could just ask Peter, you know."

"You're a horrible person. I thought we were friends."

Jimmy does that adorable laugh again. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't annoy you every once in a while?"

A salient point. Robert glares and takes a swallow of his drink. "I'm still not telling you."

Jimmy spins around in his seat until he's facing Robert. He plants his feet on the middle rung of Robert's barstool. "Hm?"

"No."

Jimmy pouts; his lips are  _ridiculous_. Robert wants to kiss him, consequences be damned. Jimmy leans in until his mouth's inches away from Robert's ear. "If you tell me, I'll make it worth your while."

Robert refuses to let his dick respond to that. "Oh, blackmail? Really, Jimmy?"

Jimmy just gives him an innocent smile. Prick.

"You know, a real friend wouldn't blackmail me into telling him a secret," Robert says, taking the "guilt-trip" method of persuasion.

"I know, I feel just awful about it," Jimmy says, dead-panned. He toys with the little paper umbrella in his drink.

"Yes, I see it's really tearing you up."

Jimmy lays a hand over his heart. "Some wounds only show on the inside."

Bastard. Smug, ridiculously attractive bastard. If revealing an embarrassing secret is all it takes to get Jimmy to touch Robert's dick again, that's really a small price to pay. But Robert's as stubborn as Jimmy is attractive, so he's not going to play into this little blackmail scheme. He's got principles, damn it.

Robert swallows down the rest of his drink and watches out of the corner of his eye as Jimmy does the same.

They leave the bar before Robert gets too drunk, because he's the only one who knows the way back to the hotel. Jimmy's got his arm slung around Robert's shoulders for most of the train ride, which Robert's trying valiantly to ignore or his brain's going to explode. But, really, Jimmy's probably doing it for balance moreso than any attraction to Robert. He's laughing at pretty much everything Robert says, so, yeah, he's shit-faced.

Which is strange, because Jimmy didn't drink as much tonight as Robert did. But, whatever, just get him back to the hotel. There's always Saturday night.

The train drops them off, and they walk along the Brownes Beach on the way back to the hotel. Jimmy's not holding onto him anymore, but Robert stays close just in case Jimmy's alcohol-soaked brain decides to send him straight into the ground.

Jimmy steps over the powdery sand and snickers. "You gonna teach me to swim now, Percy?"

"I don't think you'd fare very well. You're a bit out of your head."

Jimmy chuckles. "Robert, I'm not drunk."

"That's exactly what a drunk person would say."

"Do you need me to recite the alphabet backwards? I've never done it, but I can make a go of it if it'll ease your mind. Z, Y, X, W, V—"

Jimmy stops talking when Robert turns to look at him. Jimmy's standing still, showing no signs of inebriation. Maybe the alcohol metabolized already. Robert lifts a suspicious eyebrow. "You seem perfectly fine."

Jimmy spreads his hands as if to say "I told you so."

"Then why were you hanging all over me earlier?"

Jimmy's eyes do that adorable crinkly thing when he grins. "I wanted to put my arm around you," he says, like it's obvious. "But we were in public, so I needed a somewhat socially-acceptable ruse."

Robert opens his mouth, closes it, blinks a few times too many. Because Jimmy  _wanted to touch him. In public._  "W—wow..." he manages. Mr. Wordsmith.

Jimmy casts a look around the mostly-empty beach. "I don't think I need a ruse this time," he says, before reaching out and taking Robert's hand in his own. Robert's heart is beating so fast he fears Jimmy can actually hear it.

But Jimmy just gazes up at the night sky as Robert guides him across the sand. "It's beautiful here," Jimmy murmurs. "I imagine it's not very easy to go back to stuffy old England after all this, hm?"

Robert sort of shrugs. "I s'pose not. When we moved here last year I thought I'd never get over the homesickness—"

Robert's stream of words comes to an abrupt halt when Jimmy's heels dig into the sand, stopping them both. "You moved here?" Jimmy asks, sounding hurt.

Robert can't figure out why this particular piece of information distresses Jimmy. "Once more tourists started coming year 'round, well, it just made sense, you know, financially."

"Of course..." Jimmy turns his body to face the ocean. "Look at that water. I bet it stretches out for miles, doesn't it?"

"Many miles."

"You don't see anything like that in London," Jimmy says after a moment of thoughtful silence.

Robert listens to the gentle sound of the waves sloshing against the shore, feels the soft breeze in his hair. "It  _is_  beautiful," he agrees, but he doesn't think he's talking about the ocean anymore. He keeps a careful eye on Jimmy, studying his perfect, serene features. Robert reaches out, his hand shaking with nerves, and tucks a lock of Jimmy's hair behind his ear.

Jimmy glances over at him, and even in the pale moonlight Robert can see the flush coloring his cheeks. There's a hint of a smile at the edges of his lips.

"Can I kiss you?" Robert asks.

Jimmy answers that by squeezing Robert's hand.

Jimmy's mouth tastes like whiskey and lemon. He lets Robert lead, hums a soft little moan into Robert's mouth that drives him fucking crazy. Robert nibbles at Jimmy's bottom lip before capturing his mouth again, hungry and desperate for more of Jimmy's lips and hands and whatever he's willing to give.

"We should—we should get back to the room," Jimmy murmurs around Robert's mouth. "I can't do everything I'd like to out in the open, yeah?"

Robert smiles despite his best efforts not to. "Right, of course," he says, trying not to sound too excited over whatever Jimmy's got planned.

The air-conditioning is a welcome breeze when they walk through the hotel's front entrance. Robert tries to slink by the front desk, because the last thing he needs is his mother to see him heading up to the lift with his sort-of boyfriend. But, of course, he's thwarted.

"Robert!" Mum calls. "It's getting late. I was starting to worry."

Robert swallows back the embarrassment—it'll be a miracle if Jimmy still wants to have sex with him tonight—and says, "'M sorry. Jimmy wanted me to show him 'round town."

Mum casts her glance on Jimmy, who smiles warmly. "Oh, you're a mate of Robert's?" she says as the two of them approach the counter. "It's nice to meet you, Jimmy."

Jimmy nods. "You, too. You've a lovely hotel, Mrs... ?"

"Plant." Mum looks at Robert, then back to Jimmy, curious. "Robert didn't tell you his surname?"

"He's remained somewhat of an enigma," Jimmy says.

"Has he now?" Mum says with a suspicious lilt. "Robert, you can't go around keeping secrets or you'll never make any new friends."

Robert really wants to tear off his own skin and fly into the sun right now. "Yes, Mum."

Jimmy's doing a great job of trying not to laugh at all this, which ought to be commended.

Mum turns her attention to Jimmy. "Are you staying here for the night, luv?"

"Until Monday, yes."

"Well, don't let me keep you. Enjoy your stay, dear."

Jimmy smiles, bows his head. "It was nice meeting you."

They're almost in the clear when Mum says, "Tomorrow morning, Robert. Don't forget."

"I know," Robert says, forcing himself not to sound like a sullen teenager.

Jimmy's snickering as they head toward the elevators. "Robert Plant, eh?"

Robert scowls at him and says nothing.

"Page and Plant," Jimmy says with a chuckle. He presses the button for the elevator. "I like it."

"Why is your name first?"

"Alphabetical order, of course. And if you switched it 'round you'd run the risk of saying Plant and Plage. It's unpleasant for the tongue."

"This conversation's unpleasant for the tongue," Robert grumbles under his breath.

Jimmy laughs as the elevator doors slide open. He makes his way inside, presses the button for his floor.

"We're going to your room?" Robert asks.

"I'm just making a quick stop. Freshen up a bit. Powder my nose. That sort of thing."

"You powder your nose?" Robert isn't sure why he's surprised by that.

"You know that used to be slang for snorting cocaine?"

Robert's eyes go wide. "Is that what you're gonna do?"

Jimmy laughs that adorable sound again. "God, would you just—press the bloody button."

Robert does as he's told. "You'll meet me there?"

"Mhmm. What's your room number?"

"420..." Robert admits.

A giggle slips past Jimmy's lips. "Fuck you, no, it's not."

"I'm serious."

"That's amazing. I wish everything in the world made that much sense."

"It's not some sort of cosmic coincidence; I chose it for personal reasons. Made it easier to remember."

Jimmy's shaking his head like he cannot believe he's friends with this person. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. "I'll see you,  _Percy_ " he promises, tossing a smirky glance over his shoulder before the doors shut behind him. Dick.

If Jimmy utters that nickname during sex, Robert's fucking leaving, no matter how hot Jimmy is. That shit's just unacceptable.

When Robert gets back to his room, he flips the bar on the door and hops into the shower. He's not even thinking about the possibility of some crazed lunatic barging in and murdering him Norman Bates-style; he just wants Jimmy to be able to let himself in. There's no way Robert's missing out two nights in a row.

He feels deliciously boozy, hopes and prays he doesn't fall asleep again waiting for Jimmy to show up. Because wouldn't that be Robert's fucking luck.

Once he's dried off and dressed, he tries to distract himself by drawing in his sketchbook, but there's no forgetting that any moment now Jimmy's going to stop by for a booty call. The thought makes his insides coil in anticipation. He didn't get the chance to be nervous last night; it all happened so fast there wasn't time to panic or worry if he'd be good enough. Which was probably a wise move on Jimmy's part, when Robert really thinks about it. Once you push aside all that first-time anxiety, that's when the fun starts, isn't it?

Robert realizes the person he's sketching here looks an awful lot like Jimmy. Okay, it  _is_  Jimmy. But Robert gives zero fucks about that, because no one's going to see the shameful collection of embarrassing artwork compiled in his sketchbook. Well, maybe the admissions office of an art college, but no one he  _knows_  who would judge him for spending his off-time drawing elves and wizards and impossibly-perfect guitar players.

Robert spends a little too much time getting the shape of Jimmy's nose and flawless lips just right. He looks at the clock. It's been almost thirty minutes. God, what if Jimmy isn't coming back, and this was his way of casually ending their evening together, which Robert, of course, failed to notice?

Why does his brain immediately assume the worst? Maybe Jimmy's just being held up by his roommate or the rest of the band; he did sort of duck out on them tonight. Or maybe he really  _does_  have cocaine in his hotel room, and he's currently tripping balls.

Robert starts shading Jimmy's hair, because he's not just going to sit here and watch time tick by with agonizing slowness. Doesn't Jimmy know he can't just leave Robert like this without so much as a polite "no thanks" or even a cutting "I'm never touching your genitals again"? Otherwise Robert's just going to go mad sitting here waiting for Jimmy to come through that door.

Forty minutes tick by before a soft knock sounds on the door. "Knock, knock," Jimmy's voice says from the other side.

Robert springs up from the bed as if launched from a toaster, shutting his sketchbook and sliding it under the bed.

"Sorry for the wait," Jimmy says, pushing the door open and flipping the bar back into place, entirely oblivious to Robert's moment of panic. The door clicks shut behind him. "I had to deal with the inquisition. Jeff wouldn't stop asking me where I ran off to tonight." He rolls his eyes and approaches the bed. Robert notices Jimmy's wearing different clothes now. His hair's a little damp, too. Also, he's carrying what appears to be a purse slung over his shoulder.

Robert can't stop the giggle that bubbles out. "Is that a purse?"

"It's a satchel," Jimmy corrects with a tired sigh that says he's had this conversation before.

"Is that where you're keeping the smoke machine and the unicorns?"

Jimmy does a pouty thing with his lips that makes Robert want to kiss him. He sets the bag on the floor and digs through it. "You're the one in room 420; those are your responsibility," he teases. "Anyway, I imagine taking these alone would have drawn some questions." Jimmy pulls a pair of metal handcuffs from the bag. Robert's absolutely certain his face is the color of a tomato right now.

"Oh— _oh_." So Jimmy's a bit of a freak in the sack. Not surprising, really, considering how eager he was to deflower Robert.

"And the rest? Well..." Jimmy's words sort of fade once he takes out the bottle of lube.

Robert wets his lips. He can't quite get past the fact that Jimmy's going to use those things on him. "They would have believed you if you told them you were visiting a girl."

Jimmy shrugs. "True, but that would require an elaborate lie I'm not really in the mood for. Besides, a bit of mystery doesn't hurt. They think I'm off doing magick or summoning demons." He grins to himself and stands up, lube in one hand and cuffs in the other. "Well then, let's get started, shall we?"

Robert takes a shaky breath, stumbles backwards until the back of his legs bump against the edge of the mattress. He drops onto the bed, stunned as fuck that this is actually happening. "Y—yes, absolutely."

"You're nervous," Jimmy says, and it's not a question. Robert glances away. Jimmy moves closer, stands between Robert's open legs. "You needn't be. You remember last night, don't you? How good I made you feel?"

Robert's  _always_  going to remember that.

"This will be just like that, except much, much better." Jimmy leans in, and Robert can feel the heat of his breath between them. "You can say no, of course, and I'll be on my way. But you ought to trust me. I'm rather practiced at this, you know." He smirks, and all of Robert's fears melt away. "Of course you know, you've seen what my fingers can do."

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ Robert opens his mouth, tries to remember how to make words come out. "It's not that I don't trust you. I just... I'm not good at this. I haven't had practice or experience or anything, and... I want to be good for you."

Jimmy's mouth goes soft, like that's the most precious thing he's ever heard in his life. "You will be." He silences Robert's protests with a kiss—not that Robert would protest at this point, because he's still wrapping his head around the idea that Jimmy wants to do this with him.

Jimmy's pulling Robert's t-shirt over his head, sucking kisses into the curve of his neck. Robert shivers and shudders, does as he's told when Jimmy murmurs, "Turn over" at his ear. He lies flat on his stomach and can't quite quell the panic in his gut when Jimmy binds his wrists behind his back and clicks the cuffs shut.

Robert makes a helpless whimpering noise. Jimmy trails a fingertip down his spine. "It's all right," he coos. "Trust me."

Robert recalls a vague warning about how people who insist you trust them probably shouldn't be trusted. But his dick reacts to the slide of his pajamas and underwear being pulled down in one go, and, damn it, he just wants to reach down there and help himself along, because Jimmy's neglecting a very important part of his anatomy here.

Robert does his best to alleviate the ache and grinds into the sheets with a groan. Jimmy clicks his tongue and lays his hands on Robert's hips, tugging him up to his knees. He hears the snap of plastic, then he feels the slick warmth of something pressing into him. It's too small to be Jimmy's dick—at least, God, he hopes so—and when it curls inside of him, briefly tagging his prostate, Robert realizes with a startled moan that it's Jimmy's finger.

Robert whimpers a totally manly sound into the pillow, feeling the stretch in his shoulders. Jimmy's stroking over him, slow and soft, fingers teasing his opening, and Robert can't help but nudge his hips into that. His dick is already impossibly hard, so he knows whatever Jimmy's got planned for him tonight is going to be humiliatingly brief.

Robert's in the middle of cursing his own poor stamina when something wet and slippery glides inside him. It doesn't feel like a finger—too short and hot—but it's not like Robert's some sort of expert when it comes to this kind of thing. He wants to be, though, because it feels so fucking good, something wet and hot flicking inside of him—

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that's his fucking  _tongue_. Jimmy's tongue is what's making Robert keen out high, long moans and shove his hips back. Holy fucking hell.

Jimmy chuckles against his ass, which Robert feels everywhere. "Mm, I thought you'd like this," he purrs. Robert whines at the loss of Jimmy's tongue slick-wet inside of him, because Jimmy's using his fingers now and the magic just isn't there. It's not horrible, though. "You understand the restraints, don't you? I couldn't enjoy this as much if you could just reach down there and finish yourself off."

Two things Robert loves about this situation: one, Jimmy's monologuing like a Bond villain while he's knuckle-deep inside him, and second, Jimmy's getting off on this, too.

Robert responds to all of that with an insistent roll of his hips. Jimmy's fingertips graze his prostate again, and, oh, that is all of the good things. "Please, please," he moans, not above begging for that sweet, slick stroke of tongue.

Jimmy obliges him, eases his fingers out and replaces them with his mouth. Robert hears himself groan, "oh, Jimmy," in a way he'll be embarrassed about later. Every greedy muscle in his body tells him to push into it, but Jimmy seems to stop when he does that, and Robert wants him to never stop, ever. Jimmy moans around him, sending shock waves up his spine.

The pillow's too hot to breathe into, so he turns his head to the side and squeezes his eyes shut. Robert wants to look—God, he does—wants to see everything, but he knows if he does he'll completely lose it.

"It's tempting, you know," Jimmy murmurs. Robert can feel the heat of Jimmy's breath there, making his pulse stutter and jump. "Watching you like this... You have no idea what you look like. All I can think about is coming inside you."

Fucking hell, Jimmy can't just say things like that and expect Robert to be coherent. He breathes a gravelly noise into the pillow and squeezes his thighs together, because  _his poor dick_. He tries to spread his arms, but the cuffs won't budge. If there was ever a time to curl a hand around his dick, this would be it.

"Fuck," Robert groans, his voice coming out shaky.

"I won't, though," Jimmy reassures him, because he's crazy and assumes Robert doesn't think that's the hottest thing ever. "Because when you're finished, I want you to do something for me."

"Yes, yes, God, anything," Robert begs, chokes on a gasp when Jimmy presses in again. It's all hot, wet, and slow, curling flares of tongue that are almost too sharp and too much. He wants Jimmy's obscene, delicious mouth everywhere, all at once.

Jimmy drags his teeth there, and Robert's knees slide in the sheets, his legs nearly dropping out from under him as he squirms and shifts. He's making slurred noises into the pillow, because his brain is no longer functioning properly; it's done an admirable job up to this point.

The world goes blinding white and hot, and Robert's coming and coming until his body just  _can't_  anymore. The sheets are most definitely a wreck, but Robert doesn't even care, because Jimmy's still lapping at his hole, and Robert's burning inside and out.

Robert slumps into the wet spot, sticky and shaking, murmuring complimentary nonsense cut through with Jimmy's name. "Oh my God, oh my God," Robert groans, enjoying the slip-slide of Jimmy's thumb shifting where thigh meets ass. "You're amazing..."

"Do you ever get that feeling of déjà vu, like you've heard something before..." Jimmy teases, his breath a little too hot and quicker than it ought to be.

"'M sorry, were you expecting a sonnet?" Jimmy's giving him way too much credit if he thinks Robert's capable of forming complicated sentences after a mind-blowing orgasm.

Jimmy breathes out a soft laugh and rises from the bed. Robert cranes his neck to watch. Jimmy digs through his bag for the key to the handcuffs. "If you would," he says, feigning innocence. "Make sure to use lots of flowery euphemisms. I like those."

Robert makes an aggrieved noise. "Your... face is a flowery euphemism." His brain's still kicking back on, so, yeah, that's not his best comeback.

"Did you come up with that one all by yourself?" Jimmy needles him. The bed dips, and Jimmy's unlocking the cuffs.

"I think it's quite good for having my brains fucked out just a minute ago." Robert's given full use of his arms again. He turns lazily onto his side and rubs his wrists.

"I haven't fucked you, Robert," Jimmy says, low and soft. "Not yet, at least." Jimmy's got no business saying that when it makes Robert's insides clench and twist the way it does.

"Is that..." Robert's gaze snags in a place where it shouldn't, and, oh God, Jimmy's aroused. And it's probably because of Robert. "Is that what you're going to do now?"

"Mm, maybe some other time," Jimmy says, and Robert thinks he hears an edge of disappointment there. "You're going to do a little  _favor_  for me." Jimmy spreads his thighs a little, snaps the button on his jeans, and Robert hears himself make an undignified squeaking noise at the thought of blowing Jimmy.

Robert's totally okay with this, doesn't even think twice about crawling over to where Jimmy's sitting on his knees and easing his fingers into denim. Jimmy breathes in a shaky drag of air when Robert tugs him out of his underwear. Jimmy's cock is a long, solid line of heat in Robert's hand, twitching and pulsing at his touch, and Robert's still a bit in disbelief that he's supposed to put this in his mouth.

"A  _little_  favor, huh?"

The corner of Jimmy's mouth tugs upwards. "I thought it would behoove me to be modest."

Robert's not sure if he should be charmed or exasperated that Jimmy actually fucking uses words like "behoove" when someone's touching his dick. Pretentious git.

Jimmy tips Robert's head up, drags his mouth open with his thumb until he's breathing hot against Jimmy's cock. Jimmy makes a sound, sort of strangled, that Robert definitely wants to hear again.

He wraps his hand around the base and opens his mouth around the head. Jimmy moans, broken and shocked, hand going tight in Robert's hair. Robert's never done this before—never thought he'd ever get the chance—but judging by the sounds Jimmy's making, Robert's doing something right. He slides his mouth down as far as he can and hums around the hot length. That earns him a stunned gasp of air from Jimmy and nails scraping over his scalp.

Robert grinds into the sheets, moaning satisfaction around Jimmy's dick, and he's going to feel smug about the noise Jimmy makes there. Robert lifts his free hand and curls it around the bare edge of Jimmy's hip, thumb stroking over the dip of muscle that disappears into his underwear. Jimmy's body is fucking magnificent, and Robert still can't believe he gets to touch it.

He glances up, sees the way Jimmy's enjoying the sight of Robert's mouth stretched open around him. Robert flattens his tongue along the underside of Jimmy's dick. Jimmy sucks in a breath through his teeth and lifts his hips up, trying to shove himself deeper into the wet heat of Robert's mouth. Robert takes him in, and it's almost too much, but he wants to be good at this, so he forces himself not to gag, to just let Jimmy slide in and fuck his mouth. He likes the way Jimmy goes a bit breathless, the insistent nudge of his hips forcing out quiet, half-smothered sounds. Robert has all the power now, though fuck if he knows what to do with it.

Jimmy shakes, his fingers clenched in Robert's hair. "God, you're so—" he pants out, the rest of that sentence subsumed into a shuddery noise of want when Robert swirls his tongue beneath the head of Jimmy's dick. He says Robert's name, breathy and ragged, like he doesn't know if he wants this to stop or go on forever.

Robert sucks him slow and easy, then Jimmy's making one long noise and gasping and twitching and falling to pieces. Robert swallows him down, though he's sure most of it ends up on his face instead of in his mouth. Jimmy tastes slick and salt-bitter, and Robert licks his lips to catch the stringy white there—if he kind of likes the taste, no one's going to tell.

Jimmy's breathing hard and fast as he looks down at Robert's jizz-smeared mouth. "And you thought you wouldn't be any good."

Robert beams under the praise, tasting Jimmy's orgasm on his tongue. "I'm—I'm glad you liked it." Robert sits up, and now it's his turn to adopt the nervous hair-tucking gesture.

Jimmy rises up on his knees, winces a bit, and falls flat onto the bed. "My legs have forgotten how to work," he mumbles into the mattress. His legs are currently hanging over the edge of the bed, shoes dragging the floor. "Just a moment."

Robert finds his clothes and gets dressed. He can't imagine they'll do anything more tonight; he's still reeling from the aftershocks of that orgasm.

After a couple of seconds, Jimmy tests his footing and manages to stand. He tucks himself back into his jeans and zips up. "Do you mind if I leave these here?" he asks, dropping the handcuffs and the lube bottle into his bag. "I doubt we'll need them elsewhere."

"N—no, it's fine. Just, um, slip it under the bed, would you?" There's no way Robert's risking his parents finding that. He doesn't think he can get away with the "it's not mine, I was holding it for a friend" excuse, even though it's  _true_.

Jimmy does as he's asked and hides the bag underneath the bed. "I've planned out our time tomorrow, if you want to continue this," he says, like there's a chance Robert would ever say no.

"Of course."

"Well, I'm sure the lads will be cross I've skipped out on them the past few days, so I'll spend time with them until after the show. Then I'll come back to the hotel, freshen up, and we can go out or stay in, whichever you prefer."

Robert nods. "You think they'll just let you go?"

Jimmy chuckles. "I can say I'm just tired or that I dropped bad acid before the show. It doesn't matter. I'm an excellent liar. They won't question it."

Robert wonders about that. This is the first time he's ever really considered that Jimmy might not be everything he seems. Robert's never met anyone like Jimmy, someone who's made him feel wanted, loved, like he's not wired wrong for liking blokes over girls. If all of that is some elaborately constructed lie...

Robert must look as ill as he feels, because Jimmy asks, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he says, pushing a hand through his hair. He looks up at Jimmy, sees the concern there in his mesmerizing green eyes. That can't be a lie, he thinks. "Would it make you uncomfortable if I asked you to have dinner with me tomorrow night after your show?"

Jimmy's mouth pulls into a warm smile, crooked at the edges, like he's surprised anyone would even ask. "Not at all. I'd love to."

Robert just scored a date with Jimmy. No big deal or anything.


	3. Saturday

**Saturday.**

Robert works the morning shift at the front desk, which lines up perfectly with his plans for tonight. It's a slow morning, so Robert works on his sketch of Jimmy during the downtime. He doesn't think it's possible to capture Jimmy's ethereal beauty, but Robert's trying his damndest. There's just something about his features that seems to get lost in the translation from skin to paper.

An excited little poke of anticipation prods the back of his mind. He's going on a date with Jimmy tonight. A real, actual date. If Jimmy was embarrassed to be seen in public with Robert, he wouldn't have agreed to go out with him. Robert has officially been deemed acceptable. This is a huge win for his self-esteem.

Later in the evening, Robert catches Jimmy after a rehearsal. "You, uh, you remember Maureen, right?"

Jimmy nods. "Lovely girl."

If Maureen were here, she'd swoon; hell, Robert's swooning a little, and the compliment wasn't even directed at him. "Right. I was wondering... She's a fan of yours, and I thought maybe you could sneak her in if the show's sold out."

Jimmy chuckles. "I'd be honored, but I don't think that'll be necessary."

"Oh. Is it—is it at the same place?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "We play different venues each gig. We're at the National Stadium tonight. Six o'clock."

Robert logs that information away for later.

"Do you work tonight?" Jimmy asks, a bit hesitant.

"No, but I thought I'd cover her shift for a few hours so she can go to your show."

"Are you always this generous?"

"Well, tomorrow's my day off, so I don't mind working a couple extra hours for a friend."

Jimmy smiles, like Robert's a puppy who's done something ridiculously cute. "You're adorable."

Robert's gonna be riding high on that compliment for the rest of the night; he doesn't even care what happens the rest of the damn month—that shit just made his  _life_. He blushes and looks away from Jimmy's open, piercing gaze, tucks his hair behind his ear.

The words fall out of his mouth before he really thinks about them: "Thanks... Y—you, too." God, he is so  _stupid_. Robert wonders who allowed him to say things and why.

Jimmy just smirks and actually fucking winks at him. "I'll see you tonight," he says as he saunters away, intent curled around the promise, and Robert wants to wrap himself in the warmth there.

Once Jimmy's gone, Robert calls Maureen's home number and tells her she's free to go to the show if she wants.

"You're the best friend ever. I love you," Maureen says. "If you liked girls, I'd probably marry you."

That makes him laugh. "You might have to, just to keep up the charade with my parents."

"And share you with Jimmy? Forget it. How are you two getting on, by the way?"

Robert glances around and lowers his voice. "I asked him on a date, and he didn't say no."

"Well, that's always promising. He'd probably like you a lot more if you weren't so self-deprecating."

"I can't help it. It doesn't make sense for him to be interested in me." Because, really, Robert feels like he's only a handful of wrong words away from being dropped like a sack of potatoes. It's only natural for him to second-guess this entire situation.

"Sometimes those are the best matches, though, two people who you never thought would ever be together," Maureen says simply. "Just relax. Obviously he likes you; I mean, think of all the things he could be doing instead of spending time with you."

"That feels like such a back-handed compliment," Robert says, but he knows she's right. Jimmy's a rock star, damn it; he could be out screwing groupies or hitting the local bars with his bandmates. Instead, he's with Robert. It's an honor, yet it also feels like a huge cosmic mistake, an alphabetical misfile on the bookshelf of Robert's life.

But is it even Robert that Jimmy likes? Maybe the reason Jimmy wants to spend time with him is because he doesn't really  _know_  Robert. He's hidden away the most embarrassing, unpleasant parts of himself. Jimmy's intrigued by what he doesn't know, but what happens when it's no longer a mystery? Will he change his mind, realize he's seen it all before?

For just one weekend, Robert wants to pretend someone like Jimmy could actually want him.

Through the rest of the evening, time trudges by with unbearable slowness. The hotel isn't busy enough to keep Robert's mind from wandering, though he doubts it's  _ever_  been that busy. If he's going to daydream, he figures he ought to put his brain to good use. So Robert thinks about where he's going to take Jimmy tonight.

There's a quaint little restaurant not too far from here that he thinks would be perfect. It's not necessarily a date spot, but it's not inappropriate either. The food's some of the best on the island, and he knows most, if not all, of the staff. It's perfect.

It seems to take years, but eventually time passes, and Maureen's walking through the front door. She breaks out into a big smile when she sees Robert. "There you are! Thank you so much, it was wonderful!" She steps behind the desk and wraps him in a hug. "I owe you."

"Bloody right you do."

Maureen gives him a look, places her hands on her hips. "So what do you want? I know you didn't do this out of the kindness of your heart."

Robert gasps. "Of course I did."

Maureen watches him curiously.

Robert's taking her stunned silence as a win. "Yeah, I'm full of surprises."

"I'm still very suspicious of your motives," Maureen warns him as he gathers his things from behind the desk.

"Be suspicious. It won't change my goodwill."

"You're amazingly well-adjusted when you're dating someone." Her gaze shifts left, then right. "Where is he, anyway?"

Robert shrugs. "Probably on his way here. He's s'posed to meet me."

"Go on then," Maureen says, sort of shooing him away. "You can't miss a date with Prince Charming."

Robert rolls his eyes at her, but, yeah, she's right. The last thing he wants is another missed connection.

He spends an embarrassing amount of time getting ready until someone knocks on the door to his room. Robert stumbles across the floor and swings the door open. Jimmy's standing there, looking impeccably gorgeous, his hand poised to knock again.

"There you are," Jimmy says, like he's relieved that Robert even exists. "Are you ready?"

Robert feels like he ought to spend a few more minutes on his hair, maybe change his clothes for the third time tonight, but Jimmy's gazing at him with such adoration it's not even necessary.

The walk to the restaurant doesn't take very long at all—it probably would've been shorter if Jimmy didn't take the time to gawk at everything on the way, but Robert finds his curiosity adorable.

Robert pushes the door open and leads him inside. It's dimly lit and smoky and almost a little romantic, and the idea of being here with Jimmy sort of panics Robert. He isn't sure why; it's not obvious they're on a date, but Robert thinks everyone can see that the gorgeous bloke sitting with him most certainly isn't "just a friend."

Jimmy doesn't seem to care though, too preoccupied with studying the little plastic menu on the table. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, the flying fish is somewhat of a local staple. But you can't go wrong, really. The food here is remarkable."

"What do you prefer?"

"I order something different every time. I'm somewhat adventurous."

"So I've learned," Jimmy says with a flirty smirk.

Robert's face flushes, and Jimmy laughs. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Robert grumbles.

"Just a bit," Jimmy admits. His smile is brilliant and beautiful. "I can't help it; you're cute when you're embarrassed."

Robert's face surges with more heat. He wants to say something smart-ass like, "Oh, so I'm not cute normally?" but he's pretty much in a constant state of blushing around Jimmy, so, yeah, Jimmy probably finds him cute  _all the time._

Robert's still wrapping his head around that when the waitress arrives and sets a basket of sweet bread on the table. "I was wondering when you would stop in again, Robert!" she says. Another local acquaintance, Miss Patty always wears a smile as she serves up tea and steaming platters of delicious food. She's like the sagely, Bajan grandmother Robert never knew he wanted.

Miss Patty looks at Jimmy, then back to Robert. "And who is this handsome young man?"

Oh Jesus. "This is Jimmy," Robert explains, his face heating up again. "A friend of mine from London. Jimmy, this is Miss Patty."

"It's lovely to meet you," Jimmy says with a warm smile.

"You too, honey. What can I get you to drink tonight?"

"Jack on the rocks, if you've got it."

Miss Patty smiles. "Had your fill of mauby already, have you?"

"What's that?"

"An island specialty, dear. I'll bring you a glass—on the house." She turns to Robert. "And for you, hon?"

"Rum punch, please." Hey, Robert can drink now; he's totally taking advantage of that.

"Perfect. I'll have your drinks out in just a moment." Miss Patty bustles away and disappears through the kitchen doors.

Jimmy plucks a slice of bread from the basket, tears off a piece between his thin fingers; Robert watches with a bit too much interest.

"Are you sure your mates don't mind me stealing you away like this?" Robert asks before fully considering the implications in that sentence.

Jimmy swallows, says, "They're fine with it. More than fine, probably."

Robert feels the urge to poke at that despite his gut instincts. "What do you mean?"

Jimmy hesitates a bit before answering. "I don't much feel like part of the group."

Robert wants to say something along the lines of, "Maybe if you weren't spending so much time with me," but holds his tongue. He's sure there's something deeper going on here.

"The band was falling apart before I came along. When I joined, I actually had to play bass for a spell because our bass player had just quit. But Jeff can be"—Jimmy searches for the word—"temperamental. Some nights he'll play at the top of his game, then the next three he'll barely be able to play a note. Keith would rather drink and take nightly LSD voyages than put in a proper rehearsal. Jim and Chris have their reservations about all this, but they're too worried about causing a rift to speak up about anything."

Robert feels his heart drop into his stomach.

"Personally, I just want to play music. This is all fresh and new to me, but they've been doing this for years, so they're a bit jaded and tired of it by this point. Our own manager even tried to persuade the others against letting me join. He said it would be crazy to have someone just as good a guitar player as Jeff in the group."

Robert doesn't know what to say to that. He toys with the tablecloth and frowns in thought. "But they took you on anyway, didn't they?" he says, trying to be optimistic.

Jimmy gives a half-hearted shrug. "I think they regret it. I don't think my"—he pauses—"professionalism blends very well with their lackadaisical attitudes. And maybe they resent me a bit for coming in and trying to fix what was broken."

"I don't see how anyone could resent you," Robert says, looking at Jimmy like he's heaven-sent. "You're wonderful."

Jimmy blows a soft huff of amusement out of his nose. "I wish they would see it that way," he says with zero self-pity, which is pretty tough when you're talking about how people dislike you.

"Well, I do, at least," Robert sort of mumbles. Like Jimmy couldn't possibly know that already.

Jimmy smiles. "And I love that about you, you know. I've kept the company of cynics too long. Meeting you was like stepping out into the sun; you balance out the clouds quite nicely."

"'Course, you're on an island in the Caribbean. There's plenty of sunlight abound," Robert says, blushing, because he just can't take a compliment.

Jimmy shakes his head, rolls his eyes affectionately. He takes another bite and savors it.

They sit in a comfortable silence until Miss Patty returns with the drinks. "Here you go, dears. Our specials tonight are the flying fish with cou-cou or the pudding and souse. And we have the regular menu as well. Do you still need a few moments?"

Jimmy opts for the fish, and Robert orders the macaroni pie off of the menu. When Miss Patty walks back into the kitchen, Robert takes a long sip of his drink and peeks at Jimmy over the rim of the glass.

Jimmy's eyes crinkle in amusement. "No silly nicknames tonight?"

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, that's alright. Percy's silly enough for the whole weekend."

Robert pouts, which makes Jimmy chuckle.

"Does anyone ever call you Robbie?"

"Not if they want to live."

A smile spreads on Jimmy's perfect lips. "I'll have to remember that."

"Don't you dare," Robert threatens; Jimmy better not start fucking calling him "Robbie."

"Of course not." Jimmy gives him an impish grin. "I prefer Percy, anyway."

"I'm at a disadvantage here," Robert whines. "I don't know any of your ridiculous nicknames."

"And you won't," Jimmy says simply before popping another piece of bread into his mouth.

Robert's forgotten how simple things can be sexy when he's attracted to someone. The way Jimmy's mouth fights a smile, the way his thumb glides over the condensation forming on his glass, how he stares at Robert under luscious lashes. Beautiful.

"You're not even going to give me a hint?"

Jimmy pushes the bread basket across the table to Robert. "All this interrogation must work up an appetite. You should eat."

Robert scowls at him, and if angry chewing is a thing, Robert's the master of it. Jimmy just smirks and does that crinkly thing with his eyes, and all of Robert's irritation crumbles into dust.

Once the food comes, they fall into an easy conversation about Jimmy's time in London as a studio musician. He tells Robert about his work with the Kinks, the Who, Them, and other British Invasion groups. He talks about a session he'd done with Sonny Boy Williamson, a living link to the '30s-era country blues. Robert listens with rapt attention, eager to soak in every detail Jimmy's willing to divulge about himself.

By the time Jimmy stops talking, their plates hold mere crumbs, and the crowd's beginning to thin out. "I'm sorry," Jimmy says, a touch of pink at his cheeks. "I've barely given you time at all to talk." He curls his fingers around his cup of mauby. "Tell me something about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, something tells me you're not content to work in a hotel for the rest of your days."

"You're right, actually," Robert says, measuring his words with care. He doesn't want to reveal too much here, because his ambitions are kind of silly. He isn't entirely sure Jimmy won't laugh at him for it. "I don't."

"Plan on joining a band, do you?"

"No. Singing is just a hobby for me."

Jimmy's green eyes light up in surprise. "Really? But you're so good."

Robert tries not to blush.

"So where does your passion lie?" Jimmy asks, his voice warm and soft. He folds his hands, rests his chin on top of them, and his face is so innocent Robert can't deny him anything.

Robert wets his lips, finishes off the last of his drink. "You have to promise not to laugh."

"Why would I ever do that?"

"You might find what I want to do stupid or silly—"

"No, I mean why would I promise not to laugh? What if it's hilarious?" Jimmy grins, and Robert huffs an angry sigh through his nose.

"You just talked yourself out of an answer, mister," Robert grumbles, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat.

"Oh, don't be like that. I won't laugh, Robert, I promise."

It's undeniable how hearing Jimmy say his name makes Robert feel. He pushes a lock of hair behind his ear, adopting one of Jimmy's mannerisms. "In that case... I want to be an artist. I love drawing and painting."

"I should have known you were artistic. What are your favorite subjects?"

Robert toys with the fork on his plate. "Just scenery. Still life. Landscapes. Things like that. Kind of boring, but I like it."

"That sounds lovely. I'd like to see them sometime—if you don't mind, of course. You know, I attended an art college in Sutton for a time."

Robert's got no idea why that surprises him so much. "You did?"

He nods. "I studied painting."

"Oh, well, maybe I'll have to show you my work," Robert says blithely, hiding the apprehension in his voice. If Jimmy's as good at painting as he is at guitar, Robert might as well be showing a finger-painting to Picasso.

Miss Patty comes by their table to refill the drinks. "Did you boys save room for dessert?"

The word sparks an idea in Robert's head. "Yes, actually." He remembers how Jimmy had paused last night in front of that bakery and admired the cakes there. "Can you bring us the rum cake?"

"Sure thing, hon. We just took one out of the oven not too long ago." Miss Patty takes their dishes into the kitchen.

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "Rum and cake? I like both of those things."

"You'll love it. It's decadent," Robert promises, hiding his smirk. He may or may not be playing a bit of a trick on Jimmy; rum cake is essentially just a boozy fruit cake. But it's so delicious Jimmy won't even notice the fruit. Maybe.

Jimmy gives Robert a curious look. "Is this because I said I wanted cake last night?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

A million-dollar smile spreads over Jimmy's perfect lips; Robert wants to lean over and kiss him. "You're wonderful, you know that?"

"I wouldn't say that," Robert says, rubbing the back of his neck. "But thank you." He's getting better at accepting compliments. "I just wanted to do something nice for you." Jimmy doesn't even suspect there's anything behind Robert's smile aside from genuine goodwill.  _Oh, you naïve, adorable thing._

Miss Patty brings their drinks and sets two plates of gooey, glazed rum cake on the table in front of them. "Here you go, loves. I hope you enjoy." She looks at Jimmy. "How long are you staying?"

"Just until Monday," Jimmy answers, and Robert's not sure if he's imagining the slight twinge of disappointment in his voice. "You have a lovely town. I wish I could stay longer."

"Well, why don't you?" Miss Patty teases. "I'm sure Robert wouldn't mind. Would you, hon?"

Damn it, Robert's blood vessels  _really_  piss him off sometimes. He feels his face go hot as he says, "N—no, of course not. I'd love for him to stay longer, but I understand if he can't."

"You know how it is," Jimmy adds. "Responsibilities get in the way."

"Life's too short for those pesky responsibilities," Miss Patty says with a hearty laugh. "Enjoy your cake, dears." She heads back into the kitchen and leaves them to their desserts.

Jimmy edges off a bite of cake with his fork and sticks it into his mouth. Robert tries not to watch too closely, but he can't help his strange obsession with Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy moans around the cake, his eyes shut in bliss. "Oh, that's amazing."

Robert finds himself comparing the sounds Jimmy's making right now to the way he sounded last night with his cock in Robert's mouth. There's no way a damn cake is going to pull more orgasmic noises out of Jimmy than a blowjob. "Isn't it?"

Jimmy shovels in another bite. "What's in it?"

Robert shrugs his shoulders, feigning innocence. "Lots of things. Dark rum, sugar, eggs, dried fruit, nuts—"

Jimmy stops chewing, his eyes widening. "What?" he says around a mouthful.

A grin tugs at the corner of Robert's mouth. "What?"

Jimmy narrows his eyes before swallowing. "You said 'dried fruit.'"

It's at that moment Robert realizes this is a prank that could backfire tremendously. What if Jimmy's got some horrendous allergy, thus explaining his irrational fruit hatred? "Oh no, you're not going to swell up like a bullfrog and start wheezing, are you?"

"No, I just—you tricked me," Jimmy says, looking devastated, as if he never imagined Robert capable of such deceit.

Robert may have actually  _impressed_  Jimmy. He sits back in his chair and smirks. "Yes, I did."

Jimmy stares at him with a sort of newfound respect. "Very nice." He takes another bite.

"Obviously you don't hate fruit in your cakes that much if you're still eating it."

"It's got rum in it," Jimmy says, like that explains everything. "Alcohol trumps whatever nastiness fruit's got going on. I s'pose I can just pretend the fruit bits are pecans."

"I don't understand," Robert says, shaking his head. "Did blueberries kill your family or something?"

"I just don't like fruit barging in on my desserts. Fruit strikes me as a health food, and if you're eating something composed of ninety-percent sugar and fats, you've long passed the point of trying to eat healthy. Throwing strawberries on top of a cake isn't going to change the fact that you're eating cake."

Robert's face hurts from smiling so much. "You're very opinionated about this." It's actually really adorable. "Were you a baker in a past life?"

"Wouldn't that be something?" Jimmy edges off another piece. "Though if I were you'd think I could make a decent bread pudding."

"Try using sourdough bread. It's thicker, so it won't become a soggy mess when you add in the cream mixture."

Jimmy lifts a curious eyebrow.

"My Mum makes an amazing bread pudding. It's the recipe we use in the hotel kitchen," Robert explains. "You ought to try it before you leave."

Jimmy gives him a warm, contented smile, and Robert's blood sings in his veins.

After dinner, they head back to the hotel, and Jimmy even holds Robert's hand as they walk across a stretch of powdery white sand. Robert's thankful that the nighttime hides the way blood pools beneath his cheeks. He's  _holding hands_  with Jimmy. Even though they've done so much more, the simple gesture feels like it means something. Like Jimmy might actually want to be with him beyond just a weekend beach fling.

Robert's never been in love before, so he doesn't know if the warmth spreading through his body is love or infatuation. Whatever it is, it's growing faster and greater as Jimmy hands out sweet words and kind gestures without hesitation.

Jimmy squeezes Robert's hand and steals a kiss before they break apart and walk through the hotel's main entrance. Robert squints at the bright light of the lobby, sees Maureen's blurry shape at the front desk. She greets them as they pass by. "Oh, look, it's the lovebirds," she teases.

Robert's face goes impossibly hot. "Shut up," he grumbles, glaring at her.

Jimmy just looks amused by their bickering.

Maureen gives Robert an overly-fake smile. Robert rolls his eyes and sort of pulls Jimmy around the corner to the elevators.

"So, where are we going?" Robert asks, pressing the proper button on the panel. "Up?"

"That seems the only way."

The doors open, and they step inside. Jimmy presses the button for floor five.

"Your room?" Robert inquires. He presses the button for his own floor. "Same as last night, then?"

Jimmy bites his lips together. "I'm not sure. It depends on how cross the lads are with me. I can't imagine they're not wondering where I go night after night."

"Maybe I should meet them," Robert offers as the elevator begins its ascent. "I mean, I don't want to cause any problems with you and your bandmates. If they got to know me, maybe they wouldn't mind that you're spending time with me. They might actually  _like_  me."

Jimmy appears to be deliberating this in his head. Robert wonders what his thoughts are. "Maybe," Jimmy says after a moment.

The elevator reaches the fourth floor. The doors slide open, offering Robert a chance to escape a potentially awkward situation.

"I think I should meet them," Robert says again. He looks at Jimmy. "If—if it's alright with you, of course."

Jimmy nods, and then the doors shut.

When they reach Jimmy's room, Robert's hit with the unmistakable stench of patchouli and weed as soon as the door opens. Robert waves away the smoke, though it barely does any good. All he can think about is how this room's going to be a total bitch for housekeeping.

Inside the room are the rest of the Yardbirds, their manager, and seven women Robert doesn't recognize; honestly, he'd be upset if he saw Maureen or even Audrey in here.

"I see you've chosen my room as the ceremonial party room," Jimmy says, leading the way inside.

"It's not like you've been using it," one of the band members cajoles him. He looks at Robert and smirks. "Who's your mate?"

Jimmy steps forward and says, "This is Robert. Robert, Jeff." Jimmy introduces Robert to each bandmate in succession: "That's Keith over there in the corner with the girl in his lap, there's Chris, Jim, and our manager, Simon."

Robert offers up a meek little wave. "It's nice to meet you all." He looks at Jimmy. "Doesn't it get confusing, having two Jims in the band?"

Jeff laughs. "We call this one Page," he says, giving Jimmy a friendly slug to the shoulder.

"I imagine that would cut down the confusion." Robert isn't sure if he's allowed to sit on the bed, isn't sure he  _wants_  to. There have probably been orgies on these sheets tonight.

Jeff tugs Robert and Jimmy onto the bed so they're on opposite sides of him. "So, Robert, how'd you get in with Page, anyway?"

"Oh, I, uh, I work here." Robert quickly surveys the room; the rest of the band and their manager seem preoccupied with the girls, so Robert's just got to endure talking with Jeff until it's time to leave. Robert's the master of awkward conversations, but he doesn't seem to fare as well when the other person is just as awkward. This is going to be painful.

"No shit!" Jeff laughs again, and Robert realizes very quickly who's responsible for the weed smell. "Is he tryin' to con a free stay out of you?"

"I don't think my parents would approve, seeing as they own the place." Robert notices Jimmy shoot a glare at Jeff but isn't sure what it means. "But Jimmy's been a perfect gentleman. So far," he jokes.

Robert asks, "Does he do that often?"

"What? Freeload? Not that I know of," Jeff says, giving Jimmy a curious look. Jimmy just stares at him like he's trying to light the guy on fire with his mind; it doesn't work.

"Jeff, don't you have something better to do than sully my reputation?" Jimmy asks.

"Nah, mate, you do that well enough yourself."

Jimmy opens his mouth for a retort but closes it, as if reconsidering.

Robert's got no idea what the fuck's going on here. It's like Mummy and Daddy are arguing in front of him at the dinner table. He should probably diffuse this before it turns into something ugly and possibly violent. He can't see Jimmy as the type to throw a punch, which means Jimmy would absolutely get his ass kicked in a brawl.

Before Robert can say anything, though, Jeff turns to him and says, "Robert, is it? How'd you like the show?"

"Tonight?" Robert blinks. "I, uh, I couldn't make it tonight. But I did see your gig on Friday night. Spectacular, really. I quite liked that one number—what was it... Oh! 'Train Kept A-Rollin'!' Your guitar work is impressive." Not as good as Jimmy's, but Robert keeps that part in his head.

Jeff smirks like he's scored a point. "Page isn't too bad either."

"Oh, he's wonderful," Robert gushes. "We played together the other night at a bar."

Jeff blinks in surprise, then he chuckles. "What do you play?"

"I sing."

"Really? Huh. You better than Keith?"

Robert rubs the back of his neck. "I don't—I don't know. Apples to oranges, don't you think?"

Jeff ignores him. "You should sing somethin' for us," he says, gesturing to the room.

Jimmy scoffs and shakes his head. "Are you serious?"

"I wanna know if he's any good."

"He is," Jimmy assures him, but Jeff doesn't seem to put much stock in Jimmy's word.

Robert squirms and glances at the door. He could make a break for it, but that would probably raise a lot of suspicion.

"C'mon, pretty boy," Jeff urges. "Page'll play guitar, if you're shy."

Jimmy breathes out a sigh. "Jeff, stop it. He's not an insufferable show-off like others who shall remain nameless." He gives Jeff a pointed look.

Jeff laughs darkly and gets up from the bed. He steps over sprawled-out limbs to grab a beer from a half-empty six-pack sitting on the table.

Robert glances at Jimmy, who still looks like he's trying to set Jeff on fire telepathically. "Maybe I should go," Robert suggests in a murmur.

Jimmy sighs in defeat. "I don't know what his problem is. He's usually not such an intolerable prick...  _Usually_."

Robert manages a smile. He tries to stand up to leave, but Jeff's already moving toward them with an open beer in hand. "Slow down, Robert," he says. "Stay a while." He takes a swig, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His mouth is all smirky, and Robert doesn't like it.

"As long as I don't have to sing," Robert says, trying to diffuse the situation through humor.

Jeff chuckles. "Aw, c'mon, kid, don't be like that. Page likes 'em adventurous, you know."

Jimmy's mouth drops open. "You bastard," he growls. He reaches out—maybe reaching for Robert?—but drops the hand to his side.

"Why don't you let Robert have a little fun tonight?" Jeff throws his free arm around Robert's shoulders—like they're pals all of a sudden—and guides him over to where two girls are listening with rapt attention to Keith telling a story about a bar-fight. At least, that's what Robert thinks he's talking about—all he hears is Keith saying, "It was  _brutal_ ," and punching his fist into his open palm.

"Which one of you lovely ladies wants to show my mate Robert here a good time?" Jeff offers, and, whoa, no, this is not what Robert had in mind tonight at all.

"Whoa, wait, wait, you're not seriously—"

A cute brunette that reminds Robert of Audrey stands up and gives him an appraising look. "Aww, are you nervous? Don't worry, honey, I'll be gentle."

Robert swallows back the lump in his throat as he realizes in stark horror that this is happening. Everyone's looking at him, so he can't make an escape. Robert always thought Audrey would be the girl to give him an orgasm full of regret, shame, and confusion.

Jeff leads them to the bathroom—like they couldn't find it themselves—and holds the door open. "Have fun, you two lovebirds," he sneers, and it's nothing like Maureen's earlier teasing.

Robert hears Jimmy's voice say, "Jeff, I always knew you were a vile, abhorrent sociopath, but somehow I'm still disappointed in you," before the door shuts. He tries to focus on the angry conversation taking place outside the door between Jeff and Jimmy, but then there's warm hands on his hips, and, holy shit, this girl is forward.

"Wow, um, yes, hello," Robert sputters. Mr. Suave.

"You've never been with a girl before, have you?"

Robert chuckles nervously, hopes she doesn't hear the touch of hysteria there. "Can't say that I have." At least he makes himself laugh.

"First time for everything, right?" She squeezes him a little tighter, and he can only wish it were Jimmy manhandling his cock right now. God, he's hopeless.

"Oh—oh, yeah, absolutely." Robert sucks in a breath, because it's kind of uncomfortable when someone's touching your genitals and there's just... nothing. "Look, look," Robert starts, gently pushing at her shoulders so she'll stop, "I'm sure you're a wonderful person, but I just—I don't..." How the hell is he supposed to say this to a stranger when he can't even tell his own friends? Robert only told Jimmy under the influence of alcohol; he's blaming booze for that one.

"You don't what?" Tug. Tug.

He bites his lip. "I don't—I don't like girls."

She pulls her hand out of his jeans like his dick just turned into a cobra. Because that's a totally reasonable reaction. "What?"

"I don't like girls. Or guys. Or anyone, really. This old thing's basically just for show," he says, gesturing to his dick in case she doesn't know what he's talking about.

Her face scrunches up, and she throws the door open. "Jeff, you stuck me with a defect! He doesn't like girls!" she yells as she storms out.

Robert's first thought is, "Okay, rude." His second thought is, "That's not exactly what I said," followed shortly by, "Could you speak up a bit? I don't think they heard you in bloody  _Scotland_!"

Then Jeff's yelling over the peals of laughter: "Maybe this is more Robert's flavor, eh?" Jeff sort of shoves Jimmy into the bathroom and slams the door shut. Robert can hear Jeff laughing on the other side of the door. Jackass.

Jimmy twists the knob, but it's not budging. He pounds on the door. "Let us out!"

That just makes Jeff laugh harder. "Make a man outta the kid, Page!"

"You worthless pile of trash!" Jimmy shoves into the door with his shoulder. Nothing. "Fucking— _fuck_!"

Jimmy grits his teeth in a way Robert finds ridiculously hot. Robert will never understand the inner workings of his dick; just seconds ago he had an attractive woman giving him a handjob: nothing. But seeing Jimmy angry somehow takes him to Bonerville. Unbelievable.

Jimmy tries the doorknob again. It doesn't yield. He exhales a deep sigh, pushes a hand through his hair. "I hate him so much. Oh my God. As soon as I'm out of here, I'm going to chain him up and make an example out of that sorry sack of shit."

Robert's never been harder in his entire life. His dick is so fucking weird. "I don't think that's going to encourage him to let us out."

"Of course I'm not going to tell him," Jimmy scoffs, like it's obvious. His gaze drops to Robert's crotch, and he lifts his eyebrows in a particularly suggestive way. "I suppose as long as we're alone, we might as well make the best of it." He reaches out and twists the lock on the door. Robert doesn't know what to think. Then Jimmy's warm lips glide over his jaw. Robert lets a sigh escape, because it's near impossible to do anything else when Jimmy's kissing him like this. He feels Jimmy's hands on his waist, feels Jimmy sucking the throb of his pulse in his neck.

Robert squeaks out a whimper, and Jimmy tugs at Robert's jeans, pulls them down just enough so he can kneel at Robert's feet, and—

Oh.

Robert smothers the yelp of surprise that bubbles out when Jimmy opens his mouth around the head of Robert's dick. He'd be lying if he said he's never thought about this, but his fantasies have never involved a goddamn bathroom with a crowd of people on the other side of the door.

"Jim—" Robert chokes out, dropping his head against the wall and sort of pushing his hips forward. Yes, he's ashamed that he's painfully hard, but he's a teenage boy and his dick's in his crush's mouth. You try not having a boner under those same circumstances.

Jimmy's fingers dig in around Robert's hips as his mouth works slow and easy. It takes everything Robert has, but he manages to push Jimmy away. An awful idea, really, because Jimmy's there on his knees, his mouth red, wet, and open, looking for all the world like he can't understand why anyone would reject him this way. "What?"

"This is all wrong," Robert says, the words shaky in his throat. "I don't want this..."

"They're going to assume something happened in here no matter what we do," Jimmy tells him. "Might as well give a good show."

Robert shakes his head. "I don't want this," he says again, because Jimmy's always given Robert the choice to back out, always cared about his experience. If Jimmy's going to suck his cock, Robert doesn't want to look back on the whole thing with confusion.

Jimmy nods, understanding, and rises to his feet. Robert tucks himself back into his jeans. Jimmy breathes out a sigh. "I'm sorry."

Robert's instinct is to tell Jimmy it's not his fault, but he's not entirely sure it isn't. He wraps his arms around himself like he's cold. "Is Jeff your boyfriend or something?"

Jimmy laughs and slaps a playful hand on Robert's shoulder; Robert doesn't soften under the touch. Jimmy stares at him in concentration. "You weren't making a joke? Dear God, you're actually serious."

"Well, yeah. I mean, it doesn't make sense why he would get so weird about you bringing me here unless..."

"Unless he was a jealous boyfriend?" Jimmy can barely say it without laughing. "Quite the imagination."

"I dunno, it kind of fits. It explains why he would be jealous that you brought another bloke 'round, why you're so experienced at the things we do together..."

"You're reaching."

"Then what? Was this just a big laugh at my expense?"

Jimmy looks shocked—wounded, even.

"If this sort of thing gets you off, maybe let me know next time so I'm not just the idiot kid you brought to tease in front of your friends."

Jimmy recoils like he's been slapped. "You think I had something to do with this?"

Robert doesn't say yes, but he doesn't need to. The answer's written all over his face.

Jimmy moves closer, lays his hands on Robert's arms. Robert doesn't jerk away from the touch. "I would never hurt you, Robert. I didn't know Jeff would get weirdly territorial and try to embarrass you. If I had known, you honestly think I would have let you get hurt?"

It sounds ridiculous when Jimmy phrases it that way. Or maybe it's his voice that twists the words into the realm of innocence.

Robert shrugs lamely. "I dunno. Maybe. You might get off on the whole exhibitionism thing."

"I would have asked you first." Jimmy sounds absolutely  _gutted_. "It's not as if you're the only one embarrassed here."

Robert looks over at him. "I thought—I thought maybe they knew..."

Jimmy swallows, shakes his head. "Just you." He tries a smile, but it isn't working.

Robert can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt Jimmy, even in jest. Everything about this situation is bullshit.

Robert unlocks the door and tries the knob. The door swings open, sort of startling him, but Robert just storms out, ignoring the mocking laughter and snide comments from the rest of the band. He really hopes no one saw how red his face is, from anger or shame he isn't sure. He's halfway down the hall when he hears Jimmy's voice.

"Robert?" Jimmy's quiet, unsure if he's even allowed to speak. "Please, tell me what you're thinking."

Robert punches the button for the elevator, slumps against the wall. Jimmy looks worried, like he doesn't know what to do. Robert doesn't know either. "I'm thinking... I want to be alone for a bit."

"To do what, exactly? Mope?"

The elevator dings, and Robert steps inside. "Something like that." He doesn't protest when Jimmy slips in and joins him. He presses the button for the fourth floor.

"Don't waste a perfectly good evening over them," Jimmy says quietly once the elevator begins to move.

Robert really doesn't want to—Jimmy's only here for two more nights. Part of him wants to hold onto his anger a little longer, but Jimmy's probably trying to show Robert he wasn't a willing participant in that little clusterfuck back there. If Robert would just let him...

The elevator doors open. Robert hesitates a moment, then he says, "If you want to come in, you're welcome to."

Jimmy accepts the invitation without a word. Robert lets them both inside, and Jimmy stands by the wall, like he doesn't want to get too comfortable in case Robert sends him out. Robert drops onto the bed and sighs. Time drags by with neither of them saying a word, just swallowed up by the silence in the room. Robert decides to just get this over with quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

"Do you really want to know what I'm thinking?"

"If you want to tell me." Typical Jimmy.

Robert pushes ahead. "This would all be so much easier if I didn't care about you. But I do. So having your friends make fun of me for liking you is... It makes me feel foolish for feeling this way about you when I know you don't feel the same." Robert chuckles to himself. "That was a very 'feel-y' sentence. I hope you could follow it."

"Is that what you've been worrying about?" Jimmy asks, a curl of amusement in his voice. He moves away from the wall and sits on the edge of the bed. "You think I don't care about you?"

Robert doesn't want to say yes, because that sounds kind of horrible said out loud. "I think you care, but I know I'm not even close to your type. I just—I thought it would be nice to pretend I was for a little while."

"I don't know if I have a type," Jimmy says, "but I'm crazy about you."

Robert can't look at him. He  _can't_.

"I like talking to you. I like being with you. And I'm tired of having to pretend I don't."

Robert has no idea how to reply to that. He never expected Jimmy to see him as anything more than a nice distraction while on holiday. He sits up, still shy under the heat of Jimmy's stare. It's pretty much impossible to look into Jimmy's eyes without losing yourself.

Jimmy doesn't ask for permission this time, just takes Robert's lips underneath his own. It's a soft, gentle kiss, like they're starting over. Robert kisses back, a little more insistent, because he wants Jimmy to know they're okay, that he still wants whatever they are. Jimmy lifts a hand and curves it around Robert's cheek with the gentlest pressure. Robert's heart flips and somersaults in his chest.

When Jimmy breaks away, Robert murmurs, "What else do you have in that purse of yours?"

Jimmy rolls his eyes, grumbles, " _Satchel_ ," under his breath as he moves off of the bed to fetch the bag. Robert snickers to himself, because Jimmy's even more adorable when he's pouty and petulant. Jimmy rummages through the bag, pulls out a small, flimsy book.

Robert lies back on the bed and waits.

"You're a Leo, aren't you?" Jimmy's flipping through a book as he drops onto the bed and lies alongside him. It's tender, intimate in a way they haven't been yet. "A fire sign, of course, so, naturally, you're ruled by the sun."

Robert just has to spoil the moment with a dumb joke. "Even the zodiac thinks I'm hot."

Jimmy's eyes and nose crinkle when he laughs, and Robert can't get enough of it. "Don't you dare think that was funny."

"Most people laugh when something strikes them as humorous."

"Well, it's not," Jimmy assures him with a grin that just won't quit. "That was a horrible joke, and I'm judging you a bit for saying it out loud."

"And yet here you are."

Jimmy's mouth fights a smile. "There's that Leo smugness. I was beginning to wonder if you had any sense of self-righteousness at all."

"What about you?"

Jimmy smirks. "Oh, I'm incredibly self-righteous."

Robert rolls his eyes. "No, silly, your sign."

"Capricorn."

Robert plucks the book out of Jimmy's thin fingers and flips to the proper page. He grins to himself at the list of key characteristics: loving, susceptible, sympathetic, sensual, faithful, instinctive, charitable, over-reactive, and moody.

His heart plummets into his stomach when he sees Leo in the list of mismatched signs. He tries to shake it off, but it only reminds him how tenuous and brief their connection is.

Robert reads on, learns that Capricorns are level-headed, ambitious, methodical, practical, and don't warm easily to people until they get to know them. "Do you agree with this?" Robert asks him, because he can hear the soft sounds of Jimmy's breath at his ear and it's making his heart race.

"Bits and pieces, I suppose. I'm the second class of Capricorn, born between the 2nd and the 11th; I don't think I'm particularly possessive or jealous, however."

"Well, nobody recognizes their own negative qualities. We all think we're gods." Robert turns the page, finds the section Jimmy's talking about. "It also says you're sometimes inflexible."

"No, I'm plenty flexible," Jimmy says with a leer of a grin.

Robert thinks of all the ways Jimmy might be  _flexible_  and feels a delicious shiver zip up his spine. "You should show me." It's a miracle his voice doesn't shake around the words.

Jimmy bites his lower lip and takes the book. "Mm, I love it when you ask for what you want." He slides off the edge of the mattress, digging under the bed for his bag o' tricks. He finds the bag, but doesn't seem to locate what he's looking for. He sticks his arm underneath the bed.

"Oh—is this—" Jimmy pulls something out, and when Robert sees what it is he briefly considers jumping on top of it like it's a grenade. Jimmy tilts his head, stares down at Robert's sketchbook with interest. "Are these yours?"

A sarcastic answer is in order, but Robert can't get the thoughts from his brain to his tongue. "Uh... Maybe."

"Maybe?" Jimmy's mouth does that amused pouty thing. He starts flipping through the pages, studying each drawing. Robert resists the urge to snatch the book away and toss it out the window. "Well, whoever drew these is very talented. I'm impressed."

Robert almost says "thank you" before shutting himself up.

One of the pictures in the sketchbook makes Jimmy stop and smile to himself. Robert actually gasps when he sees what's caught Jimmy's attention. Inside the sketchbook is a bust portrait of a ridiculously attractive man with muttonchops that could kill. It's Jimmy. Jimmy's found the lazy, indulgent sketch Robert did of him.

Robert feels his insides shrivel up and die.

"Oh God..."

Jimmy looks up at him and laughs at the horrified expression on Robert's face. "I like it. You captured my pensiveness quite well."

Blush spreads over Robert's cheeks like a forest fire.

"You're a fantastic artist, Robert. I don't know why you're ashamed of it."

Robert deflates, hugging his knees to his chest. "I just... Look at what all the greats painted: pivotal moments in history, presidents, religious figures. Compare that to what I draw: hobbits and elves and dragons. I don't draw anything"—he searches for the word—"important or meaningful."

"It's important to you," Jimmy says simply, looking at Robert with an open, honest gaze. "You've got to care about what you create, otherwise it's not worth doing at all." He turns a page. "Do you have any paintings I can see?"

"Yeah, but they're not finished yet." Robert gets up from the bed, moves toward the closet. "Do you still wanna see them?"

"Of course." Jimmy turns his full attention onto him, and Robert feels every iota of it.

Robert tries to stop his hands from shaking as he opens the closet door and finds his half-finished paintings. "Here's one," he says, balancing it against the wall so Jimmy can see.

Jimmy doesn't say anything for a moment. Robert looks over his shoulder, sees the way Jimmy's admiring the painting. "Your sense of color is magnificent," Jimmy breathes out. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

His pride invigorated, he digs two more paintings out of the closet and displays them by the first one. "These are amazing," Jimmy says. "Why do you keep them hidden away?"

"I don't usually," Robert admits. "I just... I didn't want you to see them and reconsider our, uh, arrangement."

Confusion and hurt are painted across Jimmy's face.

"I mean, here's this gorgeous, famous rock star who's suddenly interested in me. I thought the reason you were interested was because you didn't know how weird I am." Robert tries to chuckle, force some humor into his voice, but it doesn't work. The sound is a broken, defeated laugh that gets stuck in his throat.

Jimmy's eyes are agonized. "This lack of self-esteem... It's very uncharacteristic of a Leo," he says, half-jokingly.

"I'm an awkward, gangly teenager with zero interest in girls. It's a wonder I have any self-esteem at all."

"But you've got a 'gorgeous, famous rock star' interested in you. That ought to count for something."

Robert smiles despite himself.

Jimmy beckons him closer. "Come here. Sit on the bed."

Robert does as he's told, because Jimmy's got that sexy, commanding voice going on. Jimmy slithers between Robert's open legs, pushes his thighs apart. The heat of Jimmy's palms on his thighs makes Robert's body go tight.

"Can I?" Jimmy asks, looking to Robert for permission, and how the hell is Robert supposed to deny him anything when Jimmy's on his knees gazing up at him like this?

Robert nods, manages to say, "Please," before his voice fails him. Jimmy gets Robert's jeans open, takes his dick out. No surprise he's already hard, but before Robert gets a chance to feel embarrassed about that Jimmy closes his mouth over the head of Robert's cock.

Robert knows he makes a noise, but he can't hear himself over the rush of blood and pounding heartbeat in his ears. Jimmy's mouth is wet and warm and perfect, and even though he's only sucking on the head, it's good enough that Robert thinks he'll blow his load pretty quickly.

Robert shakes under Jimmy's lips, groans Jimmy's name when he feels the wet slide of tongue along the underside of his dick. Jimmy breathes hot over Robert's skin, and Robert's hands come up to knot in Jimmy's hair. Jimmy's mouth works around him, slow and easy, the tip of his tongue swirling over the swollen head. Robert chokes on the words building in his throat, digs his fingers in Jimmy's messy hair.

Jimmy hums around his cock, and Robert is  _not_  going to come now, he's not, he's not. He whimpers, grits his teeth through the shiver that racks his entire body. "Oh God, Jimmy—" Robert gasps, gulps when Jimmy's hand curls tight around the base of his dick. Jimmy squeezes him in his fist, sucks him slow and curious, and Robert shakes apart, coming helplessly. Jimmy drinks him down, licks him clean, and Robert's got no idea where Jimmy learned any of this.

Jimmy gives the head one last suck before pulling off slowly. He licks his lips, fixes Robert with a lusty gaze. "Was that good?"

Robert manages a soft noise of approval.

Jimmy smirks. "Now I want you to do something for me." He reaches under the bed again and pulls out the bottle of lube. He tosses the bottle to Robert, who barely manages to catch it. "Get your fingers wet."

Robert does, but he's distracted by the way Jimmy's taking his clothes off, sliding his shirt off his shoulders, pushing his trousers over his slim hips. Holy Christ. Robert finds his mouth's gone dry, because Jimmy is naked in front of him, and sweet Jesus is he gorgeous. His body is long and lean and perfect, his pale skin soft and beckoning. His dick is hard already, leaking precum at the tip.

Robert might actually  _whimper_.

Jimmy climbs into Robert's lap and kisses him, lingering and hot and languid, murmurs, "Touch me," over Robert's mouth, and this is officially the hottest thing that's ever happened to him.

Robert reaches down to grab hold of Jimmy's dick, but if he moves his hand down just a bit further, he could— _Oh_. He could do that. Holy shit, does he want to do that. He isn't sure if Jimmy's asking for that, but Robert likes when Jimmy does it to him, so maybe...

Robert decides to just go for it. Carefully, he edges his hand between Jimmy's legs and teases a slippery finger over the wet pink of his hole. Jimmy rumbles a moan low in his chest, and Robert's taking that as permission to keep doing this. Jimmy's tight here, impossibly tight, so Robert strokes over him, his hand moving slow and careful. Judging by the way Jimmy's moaning, Robert's doing something right.

"You like this?" Robert asks, low and breathy.

Jimmy's head tips back, and he groans, "Yeah—that's good—right there..." He hooks a leg over Robert's shoulder, angling his hips in a way that makes him moan a shaky noise of need. Robert works him open just enough to ease a finger inside of him. Jimmy shudders around the intrusion, hand clutching at Robert's shoulder. "Oh, fuck..."

Robert flicks his gaze down to where they're connected, watches his fingers press and slide where Jimmy's wet and loose for him. He loves the way Jimmy huffs out praise, the way he feels inside, loves watching precum bead at the head of his cock. It's all a little too much, and Robert has to stop and breathe for a moment.

Jimmy rocks into Robert's touch, desperate. He's not even making words anymore, just moaning noises that Robert feels like a fist to the gut. His cock is hard and tight against his belly, and Robert really wants to lick away the wet trails of cum on his skin. Jimmy's louder than he's ever been, making shaky, choked sounds cut through with, "yes, yes," and "please."

Robert eases in a little deeper. Jimmy yelps and tries to pull him in closer with his leg.

"You're close, aren't you?"

Jimmy tips his head down, watches Robert's hand working between his legs. He licks his lips, breathes out a hot breath that could mean "yes" or even "this is the best sex I've ever had." But it's probably the former.

Robert's a little stunned, because Jimmy  _likes this_. He feels Jimmy open impossibly wider around him, enough for Robert to slip another finger in if he wanted, but Robert just keeps fucking him deep and endless until Jimmy's breath hitches and he comes with a stutter-shout.

Robert doesn't stop stroking him even as Jimmy's hips rock and twist through the aftershocks. He's gone brutally tight again, soft praises quaking from his lips. Robert's fairly certain Jimmy's never done that before. Jimmy actually let Robert do something to him  _first_. That's kind of amazing.

When Robert does ease his fingers out, he's gentle, because Jimmy's always gentle with him. Jimmy's leg slides off of Robert's shoulder, and he's panting like he's just run a dozen laps.

"Not bad," Jimmy says with a smirk. He moves in to kiss him, and Robert sighs happily under Jimmy's mouth.

"I've got a good teacher."

Jimmy grins and kisses him harder. Robert lets Jimmy lick his way into his mouth, but he  _cannot_  stop thinking about how Jimmy came all over his belly and how badly he wants to taste it.

"I wanna—Can I try something?" Robert asks around the kiss. Jimmy gives his permission, and Robert gently pushes Jimmy down onto his back, pressing him into the sheets. He swipes his tongue over Jimmy's stomach, palms flat on the flare of Jimmy's hips as he licks him clean. Robert never imagined he'd get off on this, but this arrangement—he refuses to get his hopes up and call it a relationship—with Jimmy is teaching him so many things about himself.

Jimmy makes a contented sound under the heat of Robert's wet, sloppy mouth. "Dirty boy," he chides, but he's tugging at Robert's hair in a way that's so full of want. Robert cleans him up, sucks the plummy head of his cock for a brief moment before kissing the words out of his mouth.


	4. Sunday

**Sunday.**

Robert's sitting in the armchair by the window when the sun peeks through the curtains. It was nearly impossible for him to get out of bed, since he was practically cuddled up to Jimmy, but Jimmy looks adorable when he's asleep, and Robert wanted to capture that moment forever. So he pulled out his sketchbook and put pencil to paper, because Jimmy goes back to London tomorrow—every second spent with him needs to be etched into Robert's memory and cherished.

Jimmy slumbers still and serene, sprawled out with an arm shoved under the pillow. His eyes are shut, his perfect mouth open a little. Robert admires the flawless shape of his body, the curve of his spine that disappears under the rumpled blankets. It's all for, uh, artistic research, obviously.

He should paint this one. He could do a lot with splashes of color, because there's no way to do this scene justice without it; how else could he capture the ochre glow over Jimmy's hair, or how the sunlight bathes his lithe body in yellow rays of morning?

Robert's finishing some self-indulgent shading on the angles of Jimmy's shoulder blades when Jimmy stirs, moans a quiet little sound that Robert wouldn't mind hearing every morning. Jimmy blinks an eye open and tosses the hair out of his face. "Good morning."

Robert smiles, surreptitiously hides his sketchbook. "Morning."

"Were you drawing me again?"

Robert scoffs. "No."

Jimmy smirks knowingly and doesn't seem to mind he's become the object of Robert's artistic obsession. Really, though, with features like that he should have expected it.

"C'mere," Jimmy murmurs into the pillow, stretching an arm out in a lazy attempt to reach him. Robert snuggles in alongside Jimmy, cocooned in the warmth of the blankets. Jimmy's arm is warm and heavy over his ribs, his hand flat on Robert's chest as his fingers trace shapes there. Robert feels the heat of Jimmy's breath in his hair, and he closes his eyes, lulled into a calm.

He doesn't know how much time passes while they're just lying there, quiet and unworried. Eventually, Jimmy moves closer, slotting their bodies together, and Robert recognizes the hot, solid press of an erection against his ass. He thinks that's the reason Jimmy called him over here, but there's no insistence, no urgency. Jimmy just kisses the curve of his shoulder and skims his fingers over Robert's chest, occasionally brushing his fingertips over nipples.

Jimmy's hand skims down the length of Robert's body before coming to rest on his hip. His thumb pushes at the edge of Robert's underwear, a lingering touch that hints at something more. Robert thinks those slutty hands might sneak their way under cotton and start groping. But Jimmy just spreads his hand over Robert's stomach, fingers dangerously close but never crossing the elastic of his underwear.

Robert's kind of stunned; he didn't know it was possible for Jimmy to touch him like this. It's  _intimate_ , close, and surprisingly easy. Maybe this means something.

Jimmy's breath is hot against Robert's cheek. He kisses the juncture of Robert's neck and shoulder, squeezes his hip with the gentlest pressure. "I want you," he murmurs, giving Robert chills. There's no lust there, just warmth and maybe love, but Robert isn't sure if that's wishful thinking.

"I'm yours," Robert says, jokingly, masking the amount of truth there.

Jimmy doesn't grab Robert's dick or squeeze his ass, just curls his arm around Robert's waist and holds him tighter. "I want you and only you." The honesty in his voice makes Robert's soul shiver. "I want to make love with you, if you'll have me that way."

Robert turns over in Jimmy's arms to see his face; Jimmy gazes back with green, glorious eyes. God, his face... Robert's convinced Jimmy is the reason for art and poetry and music and the rising of the sun. He's the most perfect, breathtaking thing Robert's ever seen.

"I'm yours," Robert says again.

Jimmy lifts a hand to cup Robert's cheek, bringing him forward to kiss him. Jimmy kisses like he's forgotten all the lips he's ever touched, loving with his mouth, his heart, his soul. He settles his hand on Robert's hip and strokes his thumb over the slope of his hip bone. He inhales Robert's sighs, their mouths locked in a moment of harmony. Robert doesn't push for more, completely content with kissing Jimmy for the rest of eternity.

Jimmy hooks his fingers in the elastic of Robert's underwear, pulls them down his legs before folding his palm around the curve of Robert's thigh. Jimmy licks at the hollow of his throat, sucks a kiss over his Adam's apple before crushing their mouths together again. Robert breathes him in, drunk on the taste of him.

Jimmy kisses his way down Robert's chest, his tongue swirling over sensitive nipples, running the barest edge of teeth over the tender nubs before his mouth moves to the crease between Robert's hip and thigh. Robert's legs fall open, a silent invitation for Jimmy to take whatever he needs. Jimmy just mouths kisses along the inside of his thighs. The heat of his breath gets  _so_  close to Robert's dick it's unfair. Robert rolls his hips, hears himself whining, "Jimmy,  _please_ ," and Jimmy heeds his begging, climbing up his body and reaching over the side of the bed to fetch the bottle of lube.

Blood stirs and pulses through Robert's body, and he watches Jimmy slick himself up, hand moving over his cock. Jimmy crawls back to where Robert's lying in wait, his knees settling on either side of Robert's hips. Jimmy pushes two slippery fingers inside of him, and Robert groans, lifts his hips into the press of Jimmy's hand. His dick's hard against his belly, and he can't even find a moment to be self-conscious about that, because Robert's being kissed slow and hungry as Jimmy loosens him up.

"I can feel your heartbeat," Jimmy murmurs around his mouth, and, Jesus fucking Christ, he can't just say things like that. Robert gasps, hands drawn tight over Jimmy's spine, and slides his legs in the sheets.

"Please, please, please," Robert hears himself begging, "I need—I want you—so much..."

Jimmy eases his fingers out, takes in the sight of Robert laid bare before him. Robert feels flushed under Jimmy's gaze, because Jimmy looks almost worshipful. He licks his lips, presses the head of his dick where his fingers had just been. He's slow, careful, like Robert's not wide open for him already, and Robert has to coax him a bit by pressing his heels against Jimmy's ass to push him deeper.

The noise Jimmy makes when he's inside of Robert is like music. He shakes, gasps a sound of passion and fever. Robert rocks his hips, fitting Jimmy all the way inside, and, God, it's all he can do to just drop his head back onto the pillow and moan long and needy. The solid girth of him is so much more satisfying than a couple of fingers, and Robert can't help but tilt into the steady push of Jimmy's hips. He knows he's probably being a little too loud, but he can't hear anything over the rushing heartbeat in his ears.

Jimmy curls over him and kisses his open, noisy mouth, their hips rolling and clashing together. It's dizzying, and Robert thinks he might die from the heat and sensation and the way his heart's hammering in his chest. He grabs a fistful of Jimmy's hair, digs his nails into his shoulder blades.

"I'm—" The rest of that sentence is subsumed in a gasp when the head of Jimmy's cock hits Robert's sweet spot.

Jimmy slides an arm underneath Robert, holding him closer as the other clutches around his hip. "Me too," he breathes out, somehow understanding in only one word. "We can—" He licks his lips, starts over. "We can try again, if you want."

Robert opens his mouth to say yes, that he always wants this with Jimmy, but Jimmy starts shoving in, losing the last pieces of control to instinct and desire. Robert wails a sound of unbridled hunger, because Jimmy's snapping his hips in and out and pouring hot and wet, and Robert can  _feel_  it, feel how Jimmy's dick twitches and spills cum inside of him. Jimmy fucks him through the aftershocks, rhythm gone out the window completely, and Robert follows him soon after, the world spinning and falling apart and shattering all at once.

They lie beside each other, catching their breath as the euphoria calms. Jimmy lays his hand over Robert's chest, curled alongside him. Robert smooths Jimmy's hair under his fingers, and Jimmy sighs into Robert's neck. "I wish this didn't have to end," he says in a soft, sweet voice.

Robert cracks a smile. "Give me a minute. I can go again."

Jimmy breathes out another sigh. "Don't be so obtuse. You know what I mean."

Robert raises his eyebrows, unsure if he's heard correctly. "You—you want to keep doing this?" There's no way Jimmy's saying what Robert thinks he's saying.

Jimmy's fingers move in slow swirls over Robert's chest. "This isn't the first time I've thought about it, but—yes, I do. I wish distance wasn't such a problem for us."

"It doesn't have to be," Robert reminds him, because already Jimmy sounds like he's trying to talk himself out of this. "We could phone each other, write letters back and forth."

"It's not the same. I want to be able to touch you, to see you smile and laugh, to wake up with you like this."

"I s'pose it's only natural to give something up in order to gain something greater." Robert shrugs. "You could visit sometime. Or  _I_ could visit." He takes in the sight of Jimmy's gorgeous face, tries to brand it into his memory.

Jimmy looks like he's considering Robert's words. He chews his bottom lip for a moment. "Maybe taking away the physical would be a good thing. Then all we're left with is each other."

"So how do you feel about me?" Robert's terrified of the answer either way. "I mean, that ought to be taken into account, right? You might only tolerate me—"

"I love you," Jimmy says, holding his gaze. All the words fall out of Robert's brain in that moment, because  _Jimmy loves him_.

Robert's mouth drops open.

"I do. I love you." He curls his arm around Robert, sincerity in his eyes and voice.

A goofy smile crawls over Robert's face. He cannot believe his luck this weekend. He's the happiest man alive. "That's—that's good. Love can make up for a lot."

Jimmy snuggles closer and holds him tighter. His breath is warm in Robert's hair. "I hope you don't have to work this morning. It might be hard to explain why you haven't showed."

"I'm all yours today," Robert says, turning onto his side so he can kiss Jimmy's eager, joyful mouth.

Their second time together is slower, filled with long, deep kisses and whispers of want. Jimmy murmurs tender words over Robert's lips as their hips move together in languid pushes. They shift and slide, a tangle of heat and hands, and Robert lets himself be pulled deeper, lets Jimmy coax him to the edge with gentle touches and smooth strokes.

When Robert's quaking from his impending climax, he pushes Jimmy onto his back, lowers his hips and lets Jimmy fill him up. Jimmy's even more beautiful like this, his hands clutched around Robert's hips and fervent moans spilling from his mouth. Robert gives all he can until he breaks. Everything is bright and hot and  _too much_ , and he wants to hold onto it as long as he can. His orgasm shakes out of him, and Jimmy links their fingers together, rolling his hips until he too falls over the edge, and they're burning and blazing as a glorious whole.

Afterwards, they piece themselves back together, chests heaving and skin slick with sweat and, uh, other fluids. Robert rises onto his knees and crawls off of Jimmy, dropping into the pile of pillows lined along the headboard.

Jimmy makes a throaty sound of loss. "Come back here," he orders with zero threat in his voice. "I wasn't done with you."

Robert laughs, but clearly Jimmy was serious about that, because he's climbing over to Robert and pushing his rubbery legs apart. "What are you—" Jimmy dips down between the sticky, slick skin of his inner thighs, then Robert feels the hot flick of tongue down there. "Oh, fuck—" Robert squirms, wraps a leg over Jimmy's shoulder, and Jimmy eats him out, his tongue working in long, slow strokes. Robert practically melts into the bed.

"Who's a dirty boy now?" he teases, a shaky hand curled in Jimmy's sweat-damp hair.

Robert feels him grin, and Jimmy murmurs, "Both of us," then his tongue dives in again; Robert adds this to the steadily-growing list of things he loves. Jimmy licks up the jizz puddled on Robert's belly for a moment, before he raises his head and says, "Shower?"

They barely make it into the shower, steam fogging over the mirror, before Jimmy pushes Robert's back against the slippery tile and takes him into his mouth. Jimmy's got his fist tight around the base of Robert's cock, his mouth working sloppily and unpracticed at the head.

Robert loves that Jimmy's new to this, that this is something he can help Jimmy practice. He grabs a fistful of Jimmy's hair, moans a breathy noise against the thrum of the shower spray. Jimmy hums around him, creating reverberations Robert feels everywhere.

It's embarrassingly easy for Robert to orgasm lately, and he doesn't know if that's just a side-effect of being with Jimmy or a general sexual dysfunction he'll have to live with. Really, though, this whole experience with Jimmy is the first time anyone besides himself has touched his dick, so he shouldn't be surprised he's blowing his load pretty quickly.

Jimmy doesn't seem bothered at all, just swallows him down and kisses him with fervor. It feels like it means something that Jimmy's been giving to Robert instead of just taking, like maybe the sweet words he spoke earlier were sincere. Robert doesn't know how it's possible for someone like Jimmy to love him, but as long as it is he's not going to argue.

"So, what shall we do on this fine day?" Jimmy asks as Robert's pulling a clean pair of jeans over his hips. He's sitting on the bed with a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, and Jimmy's partial nudity is  _so_  not helping Robert see the point in wearing clothes.

"Don't you have a show to put on?"

"Tonight, yes. At the Kensington Oval. But I'd like to spend some time with you until then. Unless you're trying to get rid of me." Jimmy chuckles without a shred of self-consciousness.

"No, never, I just—I wasn't sure if you had other obligations."

Jimmy shakes his head, picks his discarded clothes off of the floor. "I'm all yours," he says, his words a mirror of Robert's earlier promise.

The towel drops to the floor while Jimmy gets dressed, and Robert looks away, because he knows if he doesn't he won't be able to stop himself from dragging Jimmy onto the bed and kissing him until they're both dizzy. "Well, uh—my—um—my plans for today didn't really involve clothing."

Jimmy laughs. "Great minds think alike, I suppose."

"Then why aren't you naked?" Robert's inner skank strikes again.

"Because I'm hungry, love," Jimmy says with a teasing smile, like it's obvious.

"Oh." Robert's forgotten that it's been a while since last night's dinner. They should probably eat, but he doesn't want to waste precious time over tea and crepes.

But he's far beyond the point of denying Jimmy anything.

"I thought I'd go downstairs for breakfast," Jimmy explains, fastening the buttons of his shirt. "You're welcome to join me if you'd like. Actually, I'd prefer your company."

"You just want a free meal," Robert grumbles, light-hearted, earning him a sly smile from Jimmy.

They ride the elevator to the ground floor and slip into the dining area. It's not very busy, so they take a seat at a table near the window with a gorgeous view of the Brownes Beach.

Over breakfast, Robert learns that Jimmy can talk at ridiculous length about music, going into detail about the different techniques used in the latest Yardbirds record. Robert gets lost plenty of times, but he loves these little things about Jimmy, his quirks and interests. He lights up when he talks about them, and it's adorable to watch him get excited over it all.

Then the conversation shifts to Robert, who tells Jimmy countless stories about growing up in Kidderminster and his visits to Wales, and it's Jimmy's turn to gaze at him with adoration. That's when Robert figures it out, that maybe Jimmy isn't bullshitting when he says he loves Robert. Because clearly the guy doesn't mind listening to Robert's awkward flow of words or clumsy attempts at conversation—encourages them, even.

Robert catches himself watching the slow twist of Jimmy's long hands, blushes when he remembers what those hands have  _done_  to him. The words stop coming, and he wets his lips, aroused and embarrassed.

Jimmy freezes, glancing at something—or someone—behind Robert. Robert turns his head to look, and,  _oh no_. The rest of the band's stalking through the entrance, and there are a lot of glares and angry eyebrows focused in Jimmy's direction. Robert sinks a bit in his seat and feels his stomach drop. So much for their brunch date.

"There you are," Jeff cajoles, slapping Jimmy on the shoulder. "We were looking all over for you."

Keith folds his arms over his chest and maintains the "I'm very disappointed in you" glare.

"You forget what day it was?" One of the other members—Chris?—says, injecting a bit of levity into his voice, like he's trying to diffuse the tension. "You missed rehearsal this morning."

Jimmy doesn't appear shocked or blindsided by this at all. So he must have known about it and simply chose to skip out. Robert's not sure how to feel about that.

Jimmy shrugs, takes a sip of tea. "Pity. I'm sure you did just fine without me."

Keith's face scrunches up in disapproval. "This is all just fun and games to you, isn't it? You just sneak off to frolic in the sand and shag some bloke, like this is some bloody holiday?"

Robert takes offense to that; they haven't frolicked  _at all._

Jimmy rolls his eyes and says nothing. He lifts the teacup to his lips again, as if hiding his retort behind the rim.

"Really, Page," Jeff's saying, "you're the responsible one. This isn't really your style."

Jimmy's nose crinkles in disgust. "Is there any reason Simon isn't here with you? Certainly if my absence was that important he'd have something to say about it."

Keith glares at him, dodges that conversational brick by saying, "Just get your shit together, alright?"

Robert really, really wants to say something, but he doesn't know  _what_. As magical and wonderful as this morning was, he wouldn't have indulged if he knew Jimmy had other obligations. But Jimmy's capable of making his own decisions, and if he skipped out on rehearsal there's probably a good reason other than "I couldn't resist the siren song of Robert's dick."

"Keith, you have absolutely zero business saying that to me," Jimmy says. "But thank you so much for obliterating any shadow of a doubt that you are firmly off your rocker. And let's not even pretend we'd be having this conversation if Robert were a woman."

Robert wonders if he can slither under the table so the awkwardness can't hurt him anymore.

But none of the other band members say anything to that, which speaks fucking volumes. Shit like this is exactly why Robert keeps his sexual identity hidden away like a dark family secret. Now that they know Jimmy's attracted to men—or at least Robert—will they treat him cruelly? Survey says: fucking duh.

Jeff makes a face. "You'd better show for the gig tonight," he warns. "We can't afford to cancel."

"I'll be there," Jimmy promises, turning his attention back to his plate, as if the food is infinitely more interesting. Robert waits for him to shoo away the rest of the band and say, "Off with you." He doesn't, but he might as well have.

The band shuffles off, grumbling various insults and lamentations under their breath. Robert tries his best to block it out. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, staring at the lacey pattern on the tablecloth, because he can't look at Jimmy.

"For what?"

"For distracting you."

Jimmy's upper lip curls in amusement as he realizes the meaning behind Robert's words. "You didn't distract me. I intentionally missed the rehearsal, because I wanted to be with you, and I'm still cross with them for the spectacle they pulled last night. Keith and Jeff miss rehearsals all the time to do God-knows-what. It's about time they got a taste of their own medicine."

Robert thinks back to what Jimmy said last night about not feeling like part of the group and can't help but feel that stunts like this certainly aren't helping Jimmy win their favor. But this, coupled with the way they behaved last night, seems as if they're a vindictive bunch, hazing the new guy through cruel pranks and vicious treatment.

"Don't worry about them, love," Jimmy assures him. "I don't."

And Robert doesn't, at least until after brunch when there's a knock at his door. Jimmy's gone back to his own room to change clothes, so Robert's not expecting Keith on the other side of the door, glaring at him like Robert's the reason for everything wrong in the world.

"Robert? Hi, it's Keith. You remember, from last night?" Keith chuckles, as if recalling a joke. "We had a grand old time, didn't we?"

Robert folds his arms over his chest. "Maybe  _you_  did. I recall humiliation and mocking laughter, but maybe that's your idea of a good time."

Keith smirks like he wants to say something cutting and cruel.

"How did you find me, anyway?" Robert asks.

"Your mum was more than happy to direct one of your old mates from London to your room."

Robert grits his teeth. Of course Mum wouldn't know better—he'd introduced Jimmy as a friend, and it's not as if she'd assume Keith had malicious intentions. Bastard.

"What do you want?"

"Look, just stay away from Page," Keith says. "Beck's already got one foot out of the group; I'll be damned if we lose another."

Robert's actually offended that this douchebag sees fit to tell him what to do, to act like Jimmy can't make his own life decisions. "Jimmy's an adult. He can do what he wants."  _And he wants to do me._

"Let's not pretend you don't have a"—Keith searches for the word—"influence on him. Since we showed up here, he's been off gallivanting with you."

Robert scoffs. "Sounds like you might be jealous. A kind gesture goes a long way, you know. You could send him a nice bouquet or something."

Ol' Keith doesn't like that one. His eyebrows do an angry little dance. "Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. You leave Page alone, and I'll keep your little  _secret_  to myself."

"What secret?" Robert asks, struggling to keep his voice even.

"That you fancy blokes instead of chicks." A wicked smirk grows on his face like a vine. "I don't think your mummy and daddy would want to keep a pervert onboard, eh? I mean, they're your parents; they might disown you."

Robert clenches his fists, lets the rage build inside of him, but he keeps his face even. "They already know. It doesn't bother them."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"You hesitated. People tend to pause before they lie if they're not comfortable with dishonesty."

Robert can't tell if this is all a huge bluff. Would Keith really tell Robert's parents the truth? The guy's already lied to gain access to Robert's room, so Robert feels like the answer's a solid "yes." He tries to imagine how his parents might react, if they would even believe it. Considering Robert's never dated any girls and hasn't expressed sexual or romantic interest in the opposite sex, yeah, they probably would.

Although, he could easily diffuse the lie by pretending Audrey's his girlfriend. But Robert couldn't maintain the charade forever. After Audrey, there would have to be another pretend girlfriend, then another, until the truth comes crumbling down like a building under Godzilla's foot.

But, God damn it, Robert loves Jimmy, and he's not going to let this asshole dictate who he can and can't hang out with.

"Do we have a deal?"

"Go to hell," Robert snaps.

Keith lifts an eyebrow. "Really, Robert? You're not being smart about this. Just think it through, at least."

"There's nothing to think about. Do you realize how bloody childish you're being, asking me not to see my friend because, what, you think I'm a bad influence on him? What difference does it make? He'll be gone this time tomorrow anyway." Robert tries to hide the way his voice shakes around that last sentence.

"So is it really worth throwing your job away for a bloke who's not stickin' around? Do you really think he gives a shit about you?" Keith brays a laugh. "You know how many girls we go through on an average night? He won't even remember your name a week from now."

The words hit Robert like a blow to the solar plexus, and he steps back, stunned. Keith's already turned away, heading down the hall to the elevators. Robert considers going after him and bashing him over the head with the decorative vase on the table against the wall. But he just shuts the door and tries to think about this rationally.

In about twenty-four hours, Jimmy will be off the island. Sure, they might exchange phone numbers to keep in touch, but it won't be the same. Jimmy's a gorgeous rock star; he'll find someone new at another show and start the whole cycle over again, leaving broken hearts in his wake.

Keith's warning to stay away is for Robert's own good, really. Getting too attached at this point would be emotional suicide.

He should be thanking Keith for reminding him not to fall too hard for Jimmy.

But he's not, because Robert's already fallen head over heels in love, and he thinks Jimmy has, too. He's not certain, of course, but there's a feeling whenever Jimmy looks at him or touches him that can't be manufactured. It may not be love, but it's  _something,_  something genuine and honest in Jimmy's soul that's communicated between them. So of course Robert's not going to stay away. He'd rather die.

Another knock at the door startles him, and he fears Keith's come back to throw more verbal vitriol at him. Or maybe one of the other band members warning him to stay away. But, this time, there's a much more pleasant sight on the other side of the door.

"Can I be your back door man?" Jimmy says with a lecherous grin, owning all the innuendo in that sentence.

Robert glances left and right down the hallway before he says, "I'm not speaking to you." He looks away so Jimmy can't work that beautiful-person voodoo on him.

"So jokes aren't my forte," Jimmy says with a shrug. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

Robert shakes his head, still keeping his gaze averted. "Keith came by just a moment ago. He told me to stay away from you."

"Did he, now?" Jimmy clenches his fists at his sides. His upper lip curls in a way Robert finds unimaginably hot. "What a coincidence, because Jeff just told me to stay away from  _you_."

Robert's eyes go wide. "He did?"

"I know, I still can't believe it." Jimmy shakes his head, leans an arm on the doorway to bring himself closer to Robert. He smells  _amazing_. "But I was never one for rules. I want you, all of you, and if they've got a problem with that, they're well aware what they can do with it."

Robert feels his chest fill with butterflies. But Keith's words have opened the floodgates for all of Robert's teenage insecurities. "He said you don't care about me," Robert says, his voice shaky. "That you all sleep with so many chicks you won't even remember my name."

Jimmy's face goes through a complicated series of emotions—anger, hurt, betrayal, then back to agony. "And you believed him?" Jimmy thinks about that for a moment. "Of course you did."

Jimmy moves closer, and Robert lets him inside the room. He takes Robert's face in his perfect hands, gazes into his eyes so intently Robert almost wants to look away, afraid Jimmy might see his deepest fears and secrets reflected there. "They're just jealous, you know. They can't stand that the new guy's outshining them in every way. I mean, not only am I getting my more-than-fair share of chicks, but I'm attracting blokes, too." He winks, actually fucking  _winks_.

"Of course, they could do the same," Jimmy continues, his thumb stroking over the throbbing pulse in Robert's neck, "if they were secure enough not to let it bother them. So I suppose there's resentment on that front as well."

"Maybe you ought to sleep with one eye open," Robert says, trying humor. "You make it sound like they'd smother you with a pillow if given the chance."

Jimmy laughs an angelic sound. "I don't think it's that dramatic. Come now, you've been in your fair share of bands, haven't you? You know how much egos get in the way."

Robert sort of shrugs. "Not really. We never got famous or popular enough to  _grow_  egos."

"I find that very hard to believe," Jimmy says. His hands have drifted down to Robert's hips, and he's sort of guiding him over to the bed.

"That we never grew egos?"

"That you never got famous, of course."

Robert refuses to connect the bewitching smile at the corner of Jimmy's mouth with his own beet-red complexion. "You and your flattery..."

"If you'd learn to control your blood vessels, teasing you wouldn't be so much fun." Jimmy smirks and steals a kiss before Robert can say a word. If Robert wanted to protest, he forgets all about it once Jimmy's hands push their way underneath his shirt.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in Robert's bed, starting out with soft, slow love-making then lounging in bed and enjoying each other's company. They listen to some of Robert's record collection while Jimmy lies beside him and watches him draw in his sketchbook. Every now and then, Robert tenses up, too afraid to make a mistake with Jimmy watching, but Jimmy kisses the curve of his shoulder and assures him every line is perfect.

The sun's beginning to dip in the sky when Jimmy's stomach makes an inhuman noise of hunger. Robert snorts a laugh, because that's the most undignified thing Jimmy's done all weekend. "We should probably eat, I suppose," Jimmy says, like it's some great chore he endures for survival. He retrieves his clothes from the floor, and Robert watches Jimmy's perfect ass disappear inside his jeans.

"Oh—oh. You're going out?"

"No, I don't want Room Service getting an eyeful." Jimmy grins. "As if you couldn't be embarrassed enough."

Robert makes himself decent before he orders their food, because, yeah, the thought of Audrey seeing a naked (or half-naked) dude in his room is something he'd like to avoid.

"Would it be rude of me to ask for one of your drawings?" Jimmy says once Robert's brought his sketchbook out again.

"Which one do you want?" Robert asks, his voice quaking like a fault line. The idea that Jimmy likes his dumb artwork enough to keep it is blowing his mind right now. He hands the sketchbook over to Jimmy, watches those thin fingers flip through the pages.

Jimmy hums a thoughtful sound, appraising each drawing with care, like this decision is crucial to his existence. He turns a page, smiles when he sees the sketch of himself. "You wouldn't think less of me if I chose this one, would you?"

"N—no, of course not."

"You hesitated there." There's a curl of a smile in Jimmy's voice, which means he's fucking with Robert.

"I wouldn't think less of you, I just—why?"

"I like it," Jimmy says with a shrug. "You draw things that you enjoy, things that are important to you. I'm honored that I'm one of them."

"That's the only picture I have of you," Robert reminds him.

Jimmy just huffs a laugh. "I'll send you pictures, of course," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"You will?"

"Of course. I can make Chris take them; he's an amateur photographer."

"So I guess that means no dirty pictures, then?"

"Not necessarily." Jimmy smirks and covers Robert's mouth with his own. Robert can't help but push a hand into Jimmy's hair, crushing him closer. Jimmy smiles against Robert's lips. "Hey, don't try to distract me. I still want that drawing."

"It's yours," Robert mumbles around his mouth. Jimmy breaks away, a gleeful smile on his lips as he carefully removes the drawing from its spiral bindings. Robert wants to feel a little used, but he loves how Jimmy's face lights up at the prospect of keeping one of Robert's drawings.

Jimmy digs a hard-cover book out of his bag and places the drawing between its pages, preserving its pristine condition. "If only I had something of mine to give you," he says. "Make it a fair trade."

Robert opens his mouth, but his brain stops him in a panicked surge of "no, don't fucking say that,  _you idiot_." Holy shit, that could have been  _awful_.

Jimmy's mouth does that curious little twitch of a smile. "You were going to say something?"

"No!" Robert answers a little too quickly, because he has zero chill whatsoever.

"You were."

"No."

"Tell me. Please," Jimmy pleads, enough that Robert's actually considering it, and how the hell does Jimmy  _do_  that? His level of charm is ridiculous.

"No, it's stupid."

"I'm sure it isn't."

Robert just has to prove him wrong now, and he knows he's being manipulated, just a bit, but  _damn_. "I was gonna say, 'you've given me you, so I don't need anything else,'" he admits, staring at his hands, because looking at Jimmy while uttering these words might actually kill him. Someday he'll be the first documented case of a person actually dying of embarrassment, he can feel it.

Jimmy breaks out into a wide smile, makes a noise Robert's going to classify as a laugh. And, yeah, he probably deserves that, because that was the cheesiest shit he's said out loud in a while.

"I told you it was stupid." Robert resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him. Mr. Mature.

"You love like you've never been hurt before," Jimmy says, sounding awed, but Robert feels like it's a dig at him: a naïve, dumb kid in over his head, too enraptured by feeling to guard his heart. "It's wonderful. Please, never lose that, no matter what happens."

Robert doesn't know how to respond to that besides kissing Jimmy's lovely mouth.

Jimmy's sucking kisses along the line of Robert's throat when someone knocks on the door. Robert manages to pull himself away from Jimmy's devilish mouth long enough to answer.

Audrey's standing on the other side of the door with their food. "Honestly, Robert, you've got to stop eating so much. Two meals? Really?"

Jimmy barks a laugh from his spot on the bed.

Audrey peers around Robert and sees Jimmy there. "Oh, you've got someone with you." She smiles at Jimmy, who must have given her Charming Smile #3, because she looks like she's on the verge of disrobing—a look which Robert is intimately familiar with: that's pretty much how she looks at him all the time.

"Just give me the food, please," Robert grumbles, stuffing her share of the money into her hand.

"I didn't know you had friends who weren't me and Maureen," Audrey says, handing the trays over. Then, as if realizing how horrible that sounds out loud: "I mean, if you were friends with a male model, you would have told me."

"Why on earth would I tell you that?"

"Robert, don't be rude," Jimmy chides. He steals the trays from Robert's hands and sets them on the table. He fixes his gaze on Audrey, and Robert immediately knows she's a goner; that's the kind of stare that at least voids the warranty on your virginity. "I'm not a model, miss, but thank you for the compliment."

Audrey practically melts under Jimmy's attention. Robert can't blame her, really; he does the same on an almost hourly basis. "How do you know Robert?"

"He brought a bottle of champagne to my room Thursday night, and we got to talking," Jimmy answers, smooth as silk.

"You've only known each other four days?"

Her words unknowingly slice through Robert's confidence in his relationship with Jimmy. As much as he cares for Jimmy—loves him, even—there's no denying that they've only known each other less than a week.

"Feels like an eternity," Robert says, managing to make a joke out of it; Jimmy laughs, so, mission accomplished.

"You are so rude." Jimmy playfully elbows Robert in the side. "How do you even have friends?"

"Right?" Audrey says, like she's been seeking the answer to this question for centuries.

Robert folds his arms over his chest and frowns. "Now that we're all done dog-piling my self-esteem, can Jimmy and I enjoy our supper before he's got to be off for the evening?"

Audrey sort of blushes, glances away. "I'm sorry. It was nice meeting you, Jimmy."

Jimmy graces her with another charming smile. "Likewise."

When Robert shuts the door, Jimmy says, "You're such a prick sometimes," but there's no heat to it, just amusement.

"We go back and forth like that all the time," Robert explains. "She's very intent on dating me—or maybe just screwing me, I'm not really sure."

"Oh, well that changes everything. How dare someone commit the mortal sin of being attracted to you," Jimmy teases.

"I've done everything I can to express how not interested I am. Honestly, if I kissed you in front of her, she'd probably think it was all a big joke."

"Then I don't have to worry about being clandestine when she's around," Jimmy murmurs, slinking his arms around Robert's waist.

"That's... not exactly the point I was trying to make," Robert says, but his words are pretty much useless against Jimmy's lips.

After dinner, Jimmy gathers his things, which by this point have scattered across the room, and stuffs them into his bag.

"Should I go to the show tonight?" Robert asks, like he needs Jimmy's permission to attend. "I don't want to cause any problems with you and your mates."

"It's up to you. I won't force you to do anything you're not comfortable with."

And, true to his word, Jimmy hasn't. He's been a perfect gentleman all weekend.

Robert nods, thinking it over. "If they don't see me, they'll never know I was there. I could sneak in, sneak out, come back to the hotel in time for our rendezvous—if you want, of course."

Jimmy smiles, says, "I'll always want you," and, yep, that settles it.

The show that night is electric. Jimmy plays better than Robert's ever seen, even incorporating the instrumental number he played for Robert on Friday night into the set—which makes Jeff look a little put out, because Jimmy's single-handedly stealing the show for the sake of impressing Robert. And how could he not? His technique is stellar, his smile out-of-this-world. He's magic and wonder incarnated in tangible form, and Robert feels a thrill that Jimmy's chosen him.

After the show, they rendezvous at Robert's room, where Robert shoves folded towels into Jimmy's arms. Then he's sneaking Jimmy outside to the beach, stepping over powdery sand in blithe steps. "You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you?" he teases, leading Jimmy by the hand to where the water laps at the shore. "But you can't go to an island in the Caribbean and not expect to swim."

For the first time, Robert hears a pinch of anxiety in Jimmy's velvet voice. "This is all part of your plan to have me naked and at your mercy, isn't it?"

Robert grins. "There's a slight chance I might have done that, yes."

"Clever boy."

Robert kicks off his shoes, lets the water slosh over his toes. There's nary a soul on the beach at this time of night, so they've got the water and sand all to themselves. Robert pulls his t-shirt over his head, feels a burst of confidence when he glances over his shoulder and sees Jimmy's face flush. "You're not shy, are you?"

Jimmy quirks his lips into an adorable pout and follows Robert's lead, dropping his shirt onto the beach and plucking open the button of his jeans. Robert's been naked in front of Jimmy enough times now that it's not even a thing anymore, so he doesn't think twice about stripping down. Jimmy's a bit more hesitant, which is cute as hell for some reason.

Robert goes in first, walking along the invisible ocean floor and into the warm, night-blackened water. "C'mon, Pagey," he coaxes. "Do you really think I'd let you drown?"

"I suppose not," Jimmy says with an edge of uncertainty. He strips off his underwear, and Robert glances away, tries to pretend that Jimmy's not standing here in front of him completely naked and slightly aroused.

Jimmy takes tentative steps past the water's edge, like it might suddenly turn into lava. "There aren't any sharks in here, are there?"

Robert resists the urge to roll his eyes. "No sharks. Just me."

Jimmy does that nervous hair-tucking thing—which Robert finds ridiculously attractive—and carefully makes his way through the gentle water. He's waist-deep now, and the moonlight makes his skin as pale as the snowy sand. Robert stares at the flawless shape of him, the curves of his shoulders, the slope of his throat, the way his thin fingers skim over the surface of the water...

Jimmy steps closer still until his feet no longer touch the ocean floor. He reaches out and grabs onto Robert's shoulders. "Can I—can I hold on? For balance?"

"Of course." Robert lays his hands on Jimmy's hips; Jimmy shudders the tiniest bit at the touch.

Fuck, he's so goddamn beautiful. Robert can't help himself; he leans in and presses his mouth over Jimmy's in a soft, feather-light kiss. Jimmy gasps a tiny sound of surprise, his breath hot and shaky, subsumed under Robert's mouth. Jimmy's hold on him tightens, then he's kissing back, tilting his head and breathing against Robert's cheek.

They sway in the water, mouths meeting and breaking away in soft little pushes. Robert trails a hand along the curve of Jimmy's spine, brings it around and drags his thumb over a nipple. Jimmy moans and drops his head back, and Robert's taking that as an invitation suck kisses over the curve of his throat. He wants to leave evidence, wants Jimmy to remember him whenever he looks in the mirror.

Robert feels fingernails dragging over his back. Jimmy's making the most fucking obscene sounds, arching into the way Robert's touching him. Robert's ruthlessly teasing Jimmy's nipples, because now that he knows Jimmy likes it he wants to see how much he can get away with. Robert nips at his Adam's apple, licks a long line from the hollow of his throat to the hinge of his jaw.

Something smooth brushes against the inside of Robert's thigh. When he feels it again, he sinks into it, discovers that it's Jimmy's leg. Robert actually moans, "Oh," out loud, because the hard muscle of Jimmy's thigh shoving against his balls is just...  _wow_.

Robert realizes pretty quickly that Jimmy's getting the hang of this swimming thing, because to keep his thigh rocking like that he's got to be bobbing in the water. He reaches down to reward Jimmy, fingers curling around the jut of his cock. Jimmy moans a startled sound into Robert's mouth and nudges his hips into the stroke of his hand.

Robert focuses on making this good for Jimmy, because he loves the soft sounds Jimmy's making as his hand shifts and slides. Jimmy clutches at Robert's back and buries moans into the curve of his throat. Robert grinds his hips into Jimmy's thigh as the waves break around them. He takes it slowly, wanting to enjoy every moment he's tangled with Jimmy.

"This is"—Jimmy wets his lips—"this is kind of perfect."

"Yeah," Robert manages before the push of Jimmy's thigh steals his words away.

Robert strokes him slow and soft, his thumb teasing around the head of Jimmy's dick, and Jimmy's gasping, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," over and over until his climax hits him like a gut punch. Watching Jimmy come is a glorious experience, one Robert wants to etch into his memory. The way his mouth opens around his moans, the quiver of his lower lip, the dig of his fingers over Robert's shoulder blades, the way his hair bobs when his head drops back...

"Shit," Jimmy murmurs, his voice quaking. "You're not half bad."

Robert says, "I learned from the best," which earns him a smirk and a hand wrapped around his cock.

They float aimlessly in the midnight water for a while, with Jimmy cautiously building up his confidence in his swimming abilities. Robert's happy to help him and provide something to grab onto when Jimmy panics because seaweed touched his foot. And, yeah, maybe he can't help laughing at Jimmy's totally manly sounds of horror, because literally everything Jimmy does is adorable. Even when he slaps water at Robert and soaks his hair.

Jimmy climbs out of the surf and dries himself off; Robert tries not to stare, but he's only human. He notices that Jimmy's hard again, before Jimmy's lower half disappears into his jeans.

Robert pouts. "I don't like it when you put clothes on," he grumbles. The night air is significantly colder against his skin when he's wet. He makes a mad dash for the remaining dry towel and does his best to remedy the dripping water situation.

"Don't worry, love, I'm not done with you yet," Jimmy says with a chuckle. "The night is still young."

"What time do you have to leave?"

"Our flight leaves at ten."

Robert's got to make the most of their remaining hours, then. He wonders if he'll ever get to be with Jimmy and not have a ticking clock looming over him.

After Robert's dressed, he sneaks them into the hotel through the back door, the same way they came. And, wow, the A/C is definitely working in here; Robert feels a frigid chill over his damp skin. Jimmy pulls the towel tighter around his shoulders.

They make it into the elevator and up to Robert's room without being seen. Once the door clicks shut behind them, Jimmy tosses the towels aside and pushes his hands underneath Robert's t-shirt, claiming his mouth with hot, eager kisses. Robert's totally down with this, and he lets himself be stripped and manhandled, lets Jimmy push his back onto the mattress.

His mind floods with all the possibilities here; Jimmy's been amazingly gentle this weekend, so maybe this time he'll get a bit aggressive. Robert's beyond asking why that turns him on, just watches Jimmy fetch the bottle of lube from his bag and get his hand wet.

The bottle skids across the sheets, lands next to Robert's head. Then Jimmy's crawling on top of him, his slippery hand working Robert's dick, and if Robert wasn't already hard that would've done the trick for sure. A surprised moan squeaks out of him, and he can't  _not_  notice the way Jimmy's watching him with far too much interest.

Jesus Christ, he  _can't_  be...

Robert's not ready for the warm slide of thighs against his hips,  _so_  not ready for when Jimmy sinks down and lets Robert fill him up. Jimmy swears under his breath, his hands tightening over Robert's belly, and, holy Christ, he's so wet and so tight and so good inside it's unreal.

Robert chokes out a shocked noise as he slides in and spreads Jimmy all the way open, and he curves his hands around the smooth, soft lines of Jimmy's hips. Jimmy's breathing out shuddery huffs of air, but there's a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips, like he fucking knows exactly what he's doing, how he's burning Robert inside and out. Jimmy rocks his hips forward, grinds against the hilt of Robert's dick, and the noise he makes is just obscene.

"C'mon," he breathes out, his eyes half-lidded with lust. "Don't just lie there." He grinds down again, and Robert just  _has_  to push into that, because Jimmy's tight and new inside, and Robert's so goddamn deep he could cry. His hips start to move of their own accord, pushing up, pushing in, and Jimmy takes it like a champ, his hands spread over Robert's stomach as they move together.

Jimmy coaxes him with ragged noises of encouragement, noises Robert thinks he might be forcing out of Jimmy, because Jimmy looks a little shocked each time, like he can't stifle the sounds he's making. Robert digs his fingers into Jimmy's hips, losing himself to the quick and dirty rhythm they've got going here.

"You don't have to be gentle," Jimmy says breathlessly, and, God, is he for fucking real?

Robert whimpers a noise that's supposed to communicate Jimmy can't just  _say_  things like that. He slams his hips up, and Jimmy's moan is the most perfect sound in the world. Robert definitely wants to hear that again. So he keeps shoving into him, hard and hot, rewarded with the purrs of, "Oh, fuck yes," from Jimmy when their hips meet.

There's so many amazing things to look at here: the rough shove of Jimmy's hips, the way his dick's leaking at the head, the way he bites his lip after they connect, how his half-parted lips drag in air, the dizzy look in his eyes. Robert can feel that Jimmy's close, feel how his body loosens up, opens up a bit more so Robert can shove in deeper. Jimmy reaches down, curls a hand around himself, and Robert watches the flushed head of his dick disappear behind his fist with each stroke.

It's all too much at once, and Robert falls in one long slide, stars exploding behind his eyes as if he's been punched. He shakes and groans his way through it, then Jimmy's coming and gasping and riding him harder than ever until his thighs give out. He folds at the waist, tips his head down, forehead pressed against Robert's, his frantic breath hot over Robert's mouth.

Robert slides his arms around Jimmy and holds him until the shaking stops.

"God, you're... that was..." Robert sighs into Jimmy's hair.

"You're actually speechless. I'm flattered."

Robert feels like he ought to give that a snappy retort, but, yeah, he's pretty speechless. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? "Thanks" seems a little wrong somehow, like this was some sexual transaction they've just completed. But saying "You're awesome" makes Robert sound all of twelve years

So he goes with the tried and true, kisses Jimmy's sweat-damp forehead and murmurs, "I love you" against his skin.

Jimmy hums a sound of contentment and settles over him, legs splaying in the sheets. Robert can feel the hammer of Jimmy's pulse in his neck, the heat of his breath like steam on his chest. "You'll phone, right?" Robert asks, because he knows exactly how to kill a moment.

"As if I could ever leave you alone." Jimmy curls a hand around Robert's arm in a way that's strangely possessive. "Though you should probably give me your number at some point."

_Fucking duh, Robert._

"Oh—yeah, that would help, wouldn't it?" Robert reaches over to the night table, his hand fumbling blindly until he finds the notepad and a pen. He scribbles down his phone number. "I'll give you my address, too, just in case you want to send those, uh, photos you mentioned earlier."

Jimmy smiles, takes the paper when Robert tears it off the pad. He writes down his own number and address, his handwriting stupidly perfect. When Jimmy moves off of him, Robert slides open the nightstand drawer and stores the paper safely inside.

Jimmy's sitting on the foot of the bed, tucking Robert's address into the book he placed the sketch in earlier. Robert loves how he can see the notches of Jimmy's spine through his pale skin. "Do you ever think about going back to England?" Jimmy asks, and there's a hint of uncertainty there Robert's rarely heard from him.

Robert shrugs, leaning back into the pillows. "Maybe, yeah. It'd be a nice little holiday."

"There's plenty of good art schools 'round London," Jimmy says. He's trying to sound casual and burning a lot of calories doing it.

Robert feels a jolt. "You—you want me to move back?"

Jimmy glances over his shoulder a little too quickly. "No, no, no, I was just—I was just tossing the idea out there. Food for thought, if you will. I mean, if you want to come back with me, I won't say no, but—"

"Oh." Robert has no idea how to answer that. "I'm sure my parents would be suspicious why I suddenly decided to go back to England."

"You're eighteen," Jimmy reminds him, shrugging his shoulders like he's not at all emotionally invested in Robert's answer.

Robert chews his lower lip.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—That's not fair to you."

"You could move here," Robert suggests, even though he knows all the reasons that's a stupid idea.

Jimmy smiles sadly. "As much as they can be braindead arsewipes sometimes, I do enjoy being a part of the Yardbirds. Besides, I don't think the music scene here is as, um, developed as London's." He shakes his head before Robert can answer. "Let's just pretend I didn't suggest you uproot your entire life for me. It's just—when I think about not seeing you every day, it makes me not want to go back..."

Robert's never felt more wanted in his entire life; Jimmy craves him like oxygen.

"I shouldn't be telling you any of this—it's not fair to you—but I know how sensitive you are. If I don't tell you how I'm feeling, you'd probably think that means I don't care."

They've only known each other four days and already Jimmy knows him too well.

"I'm considering it, you know. I could probably get all my things packed tonight if we start now," Robert says.

Jimmy crawls over him, slides his hips between Robert's legs. "It shouldn't be something you have to think about. It should be easy."

Robert's a little distracted having Jimmy naked on top of him. He's ignoring the way his dick twitches to life at the solid press of Jimmy's body against his own. "Being in a band like this, I think I'm getting a bit spoiled," Jimmy admits with a chuckle. "Don't worry about me, love. I'll be fine."

"You're certain?"

"I'll just have to learn a little patience." Jimmy eclipses Robert's mouth with his own before a reply can spill out. Robert hums around the kiss, curls a hand in Jimmy's hair. "We should make better use of our remaining time, don't you think?" Jimmy asks, his breath hot against Robert's mouth.

"If you can handle it." Robert squeezes Jimmy's thigh in a particularly insistent way.

Jimmy just smirks and fits him inside.

#

**Monday.**

Robert stirs awake to the sun's yellow glow bleeding through the curtains. He forces one blurry eye open, then the other. It's a slow process, but he eventually keeps them open longer than five seconds. He stretches out his legs, feels the cold spot in the bed where Jimmy had been last night. They slept together in an awkward tangle of limbs, Robert's face buried in the crook of Jimmy's neck. He must have rolled over at some point in the night, because he's facing the window now, and he can't turn to see the empty spot beside him. He  _can't_.

Maybe Robert's got time to see Jimmy before he leaves. He might be able to catch him in the lobby or—

10:15 a.m.

Son of a bitch.

Robert sits up and drags a hand through his hair, pulling his knees to his chest. No, no, he's not going to cry. That's stupid. The past four days were the most amazing thing Robert will probably ever experience. When life hands you something so fantastic and extraordinary, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

Besides, it's not like anything's really ended. Jimmy's going to call him as soon as he gets back to London—if his honesty last night was any indication—and they'll build this thing together through conversation. Sure, the sex was amazing, but now it's time to see if the relationship—holy shit, Robert's actually dating someone—can endure without the physical.

Robert's eyes are drawn to the nightstand, the folded piece of paper tucked neatly under the base of the clock. He picks it up and realizes Jimmy's written him something:

_Robert,_

_You're probably upset that I didn't wake you, but you looked so lovely I couldn't bring myself to disturb you. You can yell at me for that later, if you're so inclined._

_This weekend was unforgettable. You give me everything I could ever want simply by existing. I love you, and I'm going to miss you so much._

_(I miss you already)_

_Jimmy_

At the bottom of the page, Jimmy's written his home address, and Robert plans on taking full advantage of that.


	5. July 1968

**July 1968**

If Robert had been told he wouldn't see Jimmy in person for almost two years, he's pretty sure he would have cried and maybe thrown up a little. But as days became weeks, then months, then years, Robert really didn't notice the passage of time. They spoke to each other on the phone almost nightly, and every so often Jimmy would mail Robert a book or record he thought he'd like, and Robert would do the same for Jimmy. Robert could always tell when Jimmy played a show with the Yardbirds, because afterwards he'd mail Robert a package filled with various knick-knacks from whichever city the band visited.

They sent letters back and forth, exhausting their hopes and dreams and secrets onto the paper. It's so much easier to be candid when you're not face-to-face, so Jimmy's more honest and forthcoming in his letters than he would be in person. He explained how the rest of the Yardbirds refused to return to Barbados the following year due to Jimmy's correspondence with Robert. Which makes Robert almost wish the band would split, because he doesn't want Jimmy surrounded by douchebags who aren't going to support him. Almost.

For Robert's nineteenth birthday, Jimmy mailed him a huge box of his own clothes and linens, "so you can pretend, even fleetingly, that I'm with you, until we can be together again," as he explained it in his letter. Robert wrapped himself in blankets that smelled of Jimmy and dreamed impossible dreams.

In July of the following year, Jimmy wrote to say he'd be visiting for the weekend at the end of the month. Robert counts down the days, his patience slowly eroding, because this is real, this is happening. He's finally going to see Jimmy again after almost two years.

On Thursday night, Robert loiters in the lounge, staring out the ceiling-high windows. The sky is dark and clear, the stars glistening off of the sea. Jimmy should walk through those doors any moment now. Robert feels a twist in his stomach as it all comes back to him.

Mum's working the front desk tonight, and Robert has no doubts she's been watching him. She's known about his relationship with Jimmy for a while now, since he ran a rather huge life decision by her a few months back. He felt a little embarrassed that she wasn't even surprised he's dating a guy, though it probably wasn't too difficult to figure out.

"Don't tell him immediately," Mum reminds Robert for what's likely the hundredth time. "How would you like it if I dropped something like that on you the minute you walked through the door?"

"I won't," he protests. "And you're acting like it's bad news."

Mum shrugs. "Blokes like their independence. They don't want to feel trapped."

"Are you seriously giving me advice about men?" Robert thinks that's the one area of life experience he's got down pretty well.

"Yes. I've got more experience dating them, luv."

"Well, I've got more experience _being_ one." This is one of the most bizarre conversations he's ever had.

"Don't get smart with me. You've never dated before. It's my duty as a mother to give you advice."

"I'm sure this wasn't the way you expected my first date to go, was it?"

"He makes you happy," Mum says simply, like that's all that matters. And maybe it is.

The bell above the front door jangles, and Jimmy steps inside. He takes one look at Robert, and an excited grin stretches across his face. "Hi."

"Hi."

Emotions ricochet through Robert, and he lets himself feel every one of them. Jimmy's hair is much longer now, falling like black satin curtains on either side of his face. His face is still sweet and youthful, but it's hardened a bit, the planes of his cheekbones sharper, his jaw squarer. The pictures hadn't done him justice. Jimmy is unbelievably, inhumanly beautiful.

Robert breaks into a sprint, as though released from some unseen gate. Jimmy drops his bag at his feet and lets Robert crash into him. They hold on tightly, just breathing each other in. Jimmy sort of buries his nose in the slope of Robert's neck.

After a moment of clutching to each other, Robert loosens his grip and takes a step back, sizing him up. "You look good."

Jimmy does that nervous hair-tucking thing, which looks even cuter now that his hair is longer. "You, too."

From behind the front desk, Mum says, "Oh bloody hell, would you just kiss him already?"

Robert covers his reddening face with his hands. "Oh my God..."

"Mother knows best," Jimmy teases, curving a hand around Robert's waist. Robert looks into Jimmy's eyes, and the jolt sends him into a free fall. He can't help but reach out and pull Jimmy's mouth to his own. Jimmy slides his arms around him, his mouth curved into a smile under Robert's kisses. The idea that Robert could have this, that he might never have to let go of Jimmy again, makes it nearly impossible to stop, but he manages, because even though Mum encouraged the kiss she probably doesn't want to watch it escalate.

"I've got a surprise for you," Robert says once their mouths are their own again.

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. "That's hardly a surprise," he leers with a smirk.

"Pagey!" How did Jimmy end up making dick jokes when Robert's the one who's still a teenager?

"It's something else, then?"

Robert rolls his eyes. "Of course it is."

"Do I get a hint?" Jimmy asks in that perfect voice, and Robert finds it difficult to deny him anything.

"I'll tell you later. We've got some catching up to do first." He hopes the crooked curve of his mouth conveys what kind of "catching up" he's got in mind.

Jimmy's a quick learner. "Of course. Lead the way." He grabs his bag and follows Robert to the elevator. When he passes the front desk, he smiles and says, "It's lovely to see you again, Mrs. Plant. I take it Robert's told you about the nature of our relationship?"

Robert freezes mid-step and hopes Mum won't embarrass him, though, if he's honest, that ship has already sailed and reached its destination.

"Not in so many words, dear," Mum says. "A mother knows."

Jimmy smiles, and his eyes do that crinkly thing that makes him look oh-so innocent. "Thank you for being so gracious. Not many parents would be so hospitable."

"You're both adults," Mum says with a shrug. "And it's not as if either one of you could get knocked up."

Robert buries his face in his hands and prays for the earth to swallow him.

Jimmy grins. "You're embarrassing him," he says. "Keep going."

"We'll have plenty of time over the weekend for that," Mum says. "Maybe he'll do it himself."

Robert groans an exasperated noise. "Mum..."

Jimmy laughs, and Robert's never going to stop thinking it's one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. "Thank you again," he says, before Robert tugs at his hand and drags him down the hall to the elevators. "I like her."

"You just like embarrassing me." Robert presses the button for the lift.

Jimmy gives a nod of agreement. "That too." He flashes that innocent smile again and steps inside the elevator when the doors open. Robert joins him and kisses the next few words out of his mouth. Jimmy purrs in approval. "You know," he says around Robert's ravenous kisses, "I wanted to make this really special. I had it all planned out; I'd show up here for your birthday, just like when we first met. It was supposed to be romantic, but I couldn't wait any longer."

"I'm glad you lost your patience," Robert says, nipping at Jimmy's mouth. "I missed you." He presses himself closer, but something doesn't feel right. "Why aren't we moving?"

Jimmy turns his head away for a moment, glances at the panel of buttons there. "It might help if you pressed the button for the proper floor."

"Oh." Robert punches in the fourth floor and kisses Jimmy all the way up.

They manage to make it into Robert's room, restless and hard and so fucking desperate. Jimmy drops his bag somewhere near the bed before Robert's pushing him against the wall and shoving his hands underneath Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy gasps around Robert's mouth, and Robert sticks his thigh between Jimmy's long legs. Jimmy grinds into it and reaches for the clasp of Robert's jeans.

"I need—I want—"

"I know," Jimmy pants out, lets Robert haul off his t-shirt and latch his mouth to the curve of Jimmy's neck. Robert sucks kisses into the hinge of his jaw—he's almost certain there's going to be a mark there later—and pushes his hands into Jimmy's dark, messy hair. He loves the way it spills over his shoulders, the way Jimmy's looking at him like he wants this as much as Robert does.

Robert's hands can't seem to decide where they want to be. He wants to touch Jimmy everywhere, all at once, but he thinks getting Jimmy naked is a good start, so Robert pushes at the waist of his trousers, fingers fumbling with the button, before Jimmy murmurs "Wait, wait," against his mouth and breaks away.

Robert's too desperate to wait; he's been waiting almost two years to get his hands on Jimmy again. They're not stopping, even if a volcano erupts in the middle of town, or something equally disastrous.

"Pagey, what are you—"

Jimmy's digging through his bag, then he's shoving the bottle at Robert and kicking his shoes off. Robert takes approximately two seconds to edge his jeans down and run a slippery hand along his dick. He pulls Jimmy's slacks and underwear down his legs, and Jimmy's thighs slide open under the push of Robert's hands. Robert moves in, smothering Jimmy's soft, quick exhales under his mouth, and lines himself up, skims a hand under Jimmy's thigh and lifts so he can push all the way in.

Jimmy makes the fucking hottest sound Robert's ever heard. His head thumps against the wall, his mouth open around hot and heavy moans, and Robert digs his fingers in around Jimmy's hips and just _takes_ him, quick and rough and dirty. Jimmy opens so easily around him, like Robert's dick is the only thing he's ever wanted. His hands go tight over Robert's shoulders, nails dragging down his back as Robert pushes in deeper and harder. "Love you—so much," Robert pants into the curve of Jimmy's neck. Jimmy groans a soft, stunned noise in his throat, curving his hips into Robert's touch.

Jimmy's begging, "More, more, please," in a way that's graceless and shameless, and Robert gives him what he needs, bites down on the sensitive peak of a nipple and makes Jimmy actually fucking sob. Robert's skin feels like it's on fire, and he knows he's close, embarrassingly close, but he's resigned himself to hair-trigger orgasms when another person's involved. He moves in until there's no space between them anymore, until Jimmy's heel pushes against Robert's ass in a clumsy plea for more. Jimmy chokes out a gasp, and Robert shoves in until everything is sharp and hot and he's gasping and twitching and falling to pieces inside of him.

Robert sighs and slumps against him, breathing blissed-out noises into the sweat-damp skin of Jimmy's throat. Jimmy grinds into Robert's belly, desperate for friction against the hard line of his cock. "Still a minuteman, I see," Jimmy chuckles, leaving wet trails of precum on Robert's skin.

"Shut up," Robert grumbles. "It's your fault, you know."

"Oh?"

"You're fucking perfect. You have no idea what you do to me. You should try being uglier; maybe I'll last longer."

Jimmy laughs. "I'll see what I can do."

Robert's still shivering from the echoes of bliss as he carries Jimmy to the bed, and Jimmy ends up on his back, legs open—all the way open—for whatever Robert wants to do. Robert kneels on the carpet and tugs Jimmy forward, enough to drag his tongue over the slick-wet pink of his hole. Jimmy gasps, his fingers clenched in the sheets, and pushes his hips up. Robert licks him open, tongue stroking and pressing in. Jimmy groans Robert's name, more desperation than anything else, and Robert holds him there, lets Jimmy hook a leg over his shoulder and sway his hips into the slippery heat of his tongue.

Robert pushes at Jimmy's thigh to spread him wider, slides his tongue in deep, and he's rewarded with a beautiful shudder of a noise from Jimmy that crescendos into a breathless moan as he crests. He comes over his belly, his body loose and shaky, and he's breathing out Robert's name cut through with messy, incoherent swearing and praises. Robert leaves kisses along the inside of Jimmy's thighs, licks up the sticky mess on his stomach before climbing up his body and claiming Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy's hands weave into Robert's hair and hold him there until their lips are wet and bruised and numb.

"You're a lot more confident since the last time I saw you," Jimmy says with a satisified smile.

"The letters helped," Robert admits, because without that level of candid conversation he'd probably still worry about whether or not Jimmy wants him to touch his dick. "And I've had a very long time to think about all the things I want to do with you."

Jimmy grins like he's totally down with that. His fingers travel the length of Robert's spine. "A long list, I'm sure. Have you got time to see what I brought for you?"

"You brought me something?" Robert sits up, and Jimmy throws an arm over the side of the bed to reach his bag.

"Of course," Jimmy chuckles. He hoists the bag onto the bed and digs through it. He takes out a handful of various candies and chocolates. "I picked these up after our last show."

"Ooh." Robert snatches up a piece and pops it into his mouth. "How'd you manage to take this trip, anyway? They're probably not too happy you're here visiting me."

"I haven't been entirely honest with you," Jimmy starts.

Oh Christ, here it comes. Was all of this an elaborate joke to make Robert look stupid?

Robert gulps down a mouthful of candy. "Oh?" He's fucking amazed he gets that one word out without his voice shaking.

"The reason I'm here now is because the band broke up," Jimmy admits, rather sheepish.

The words hit Robert like a gut punch. "When?"

"Just this month. Keith and Jim didn't like the music anymore. I tried desperately to keep them together, but Keith just didn't want to take things seriously anymore."

"What about Jeff?"

Jimmy bites his lower lip and glances off for a moment. "He left almost as soon as we got back from Barbados. It seems you were on the mark about him."

"What do you mean?"

"You asked if he was my boyfriend." Jimmy shrugs his shoulders, rubs the back of his neck. "I think—I think he wanted to be, and seeing me spend all my time with you pissed him off. I don't know, maybe he thought I should have gone to a friend first instead of exploring these"—he searches for the proper word—"feelings with a stranger."

Robert swallows thickly. He fucking knew he would ruin Jimmy's friendships. "Oh..." His voice is weaker now.

"I'm sure that wasn't the only reason. Jeff doesn't really play well with others—something I didn't know when I suggested he join the group—and maybe he didn't like having to share the spotlight with another guitarist." Jimmy wrings his hands.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this in your letters?" Robert asks.

Jimmy looks up at him. "I knew it would only hurt you. You'd convince yourself it was your fault somehow."

Robert's silence says it absolutely is his fault.

"It's not," Jimmy says, as if reading his mind. He lays a hand on Robert's arm. "The band was fractured far before I met you. And if our relationship did have something to do with it, well, I'm glad it ended this way. Because I'd rather have you."

Robert smiles despite himself and feels his face heat up.

"So, tell me, what's this surprise of yours?" Jimmy asks, looking like an eager puppy.

Robert reaches for Jimmy's hand. He feels at peace when their fingers link together. "I'm moving back to England in the fall," Robert says, because he can't keep a secret any longer.

Jimmy's face lights up, and it's the most beautiful thing Robert's ever seen. "Are you—Really? Your parents are okay with that?"

"I've been saving up for a while, so I've got the money. And I'll be going to university, so they can't really be too upset about it."

"What school?"

"Sutton Art College." Robert can't stop the grin from forming, because that's the same school Jimmy attended before his Yardbirds days.

Jimmy laughs. "Why am I not surprised?" He plucks a piece of candy from the box and takes a bite.

"What about you? What are you going to do now that the band's broken up?"

"I'll figure something out," Jimmy says, casually. "I could put a band together. Maybe. But whatever I do, I'm glad you'll be there with me."

"You're not upset?"

"Sometimes things fall apart so better things can come together."

"You should write poetry."

"Shut up." Jimmy slugs him in the shoulder with playful intent. Robert reaches out and pushes the hair off of his forehead. God, he's so damn beautiful. Robert's still having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Jimmy actually wants to be with him.

"Are you going to miss it here?" Jimmy asks. "You practically live in paradise."

"Paradise is wherever you are," Robert says, fully aware of how fucking corny that is.

Jimmy chuckles. "Wow, and you're sure I'm the one who ought to write poetry?"

Robert snorts an indignant noise and pushes Jimmy onto his back. Jimmy goes willingly, his hair splayed out over the crisp white bedding. He brings Robert's mouth to his own while his other hand pushes at the edge of Robert's jeans. "I've got you all to myself this weekend," Robert hums around Jimmy's lips. "No interruptions. No distractions."

"Your mum isn't going to chaperone our dates?"

"God, don't even think about it. She might be able to read minds."

Jimmy snickers, slides his hands into Robert's jeans and cups his ass. "For her sake, I hope not. My mind is a very dirty place."

* * *

  _When it comes to life, we spin our own yarn, and where we end up is really, in fact, where we always intended to be._

~ Julia Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic has a fanmix! [here](http://8tracks.com/sodium-amytal/endless-summer-nights)


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